The Winchesters' Rules for Hunting
by AlElizabeth
Summary: Series of Oneshots based on ridiculous or humorous "rules" for hunting featuring the Winchesters.
1. Chapter 1

**Rule Number 1: Don't Hunt on an Empty Stomach**

Dean swore silently as his stomach let out a long whine loud enough for Sam to peer over at him from his position behind a gravestone several yards away.

I knew I should have grabbed something to eat, Dean thought regrettably and squinted into the darkness, trying to catch sight of the Black Dog he and Sam were currently hunting.

Dean shifted his position slightly, trying to get comfortable. He sat crouched behind a crumbling limestone grave marker, his left shoulder pressed against the cold stone, his socks soaked through with dew.

Neither he nor Sam had flashlights, although the cemetery was large, with winding paths that cut past the numerous graves, a bloated, yellow moon shed enough light to see by. Besides, trying to hold a flashlight and shoot a charging Black Dog didn't work too well.

Dean frowned again when his stomach growled a second time, now more insistent.

Dean sighed quietly and wondered if Sam had any of those stupid energy bars he was addicted to. Maybe he could get one from his brother while they waited for the monster to show up.

A third growl broke the tranquil quiet of the graveyard, this one louder than the ones previous and somehow more threatening.

This one hadn't come from Dean's stomach, either.

Suddenly on high alert, the older Winchester scanned the grass ahead of him.

The trouble with Black Dogs was that they were damn hard to spot at night, their jet-black fur and silvery eyes blending in quickly with the shadows and moonbeams.

Suddenly, Dean caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye and raised himself up so that he could shoot his gun from over the top of the gravestone while using it for protection as well.

The bullet missed the dog and ricocheted off a grave, burying harmlessly in the grass.

A few yards away, Sam was standing behind his own gravestone, his own weapon at the ready.

"Damn," Dean swore as he lost sight of the monster again.

The hunter focused on every splash of shadow cast by the gravestones and trees, certain the Black Dog was using them to hide and inch closer towards him and his brother.

C'mon, c'mon you bastard, Dean thought, grinding his teeth, show yourself.

Dean groaned inwardly as his stomach whined and he caught his brother's eye, Sam frowning at him in irritation.

Dean opened his mouth, about to remind Sam that _he _was the one who had insisted they head to the cemetery as soon as dusk approached, skipping dinner, when a streak of darkness tore itself away from the shadow beneath a large blue spruce and hit his sibling.

"Gah!" Sam shouted in surprise and pain, falling over backwards.

"Sam!" Dean called and left his position, running towards his brother.

"Ahhhh!" Sam cried out in pain and Dean caught sight of a splash of white among the black-furred creature pinning his brother to the cemetery floor.

As he ran, the older Winchester raised his gun and struggled to aim it at the Black Dog, hesitating for fear of hitting his sibling instead.

"DEAN!" Sam cried out and that steeled the hunter's nerves.

Pointing the gun at the writhing black mass as best he could, Dean squeezed off a shot.

The yelp of pain told Dean he hadn't missed his target. His fired again and the squeal of agony was abruptly cut off.

Dean skidded to a halt beside his brother, dropping to his knees and shoved the dead Black Dog off Sam's chest.

His sibling was laying on his back, his face pale and beaded with sweat, his right arm against his chest, the sleeve darkening with blood.

Wordlessly, Dean helped Sam up into a sitting position and pulled back his brother's shirtsleeve to assess the damage.

"W-Would have got my chest b-but I got my arm up i-in time," Sam explained, breathing heavily through the pain.

"It's gonna need stitches," Dean informed him, cringing at the deep gashes in his brother's arm.

"Why did it go after me anyway?" Sam asked as he stood shakily, Dean retrieving his fallen gun for him.

"Your stomach was growling loudly enough to wake the dead," Sam commented and Dean snorted.

"I guess this guy was just in the mood for a _Sam-_wich tonight," Dean joked and poked the dead dog with the toe of his boot.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's joke, grateful that even though he had missed dinner; Dean was still as quick as ever and had killed the Black Dog before it did any real damage.

"Let's light this puppy up and then get something to eat," Dean said, "I'm starving."

**Author's Note:**

**I think this can be another series of reader-prompted one shots. I think that this time, I want some silly or nonsense rules about hunting. If you have an idea for a "rule" about hunting, please send it and I will write a one-shot around it. **

**Please take a moment and leave a review (or a prompt). **


	2. Chapter 2

**Rule Number 2: Never go on a hunt when you're angry**

Sam trudged along behind his father and brother, a sour expression on his face.

He shouldn't even be here. It was a routine salt n' burn, nothing that required all three of them to be present.

But John had insisted Sam needed more practice.

So here he was, shotgun full of rock salt in one hand and flashlight in the other, wanting nothing more than to go back to the motel and finish his English essay that was due at the end of the week.

Sam sighed audibly. Was he so weird for wanting to do his homework instead of dispatching vengeful spirits?

His father thought so.

"Can you cut the bitchiness out for an hour or so Sam? I can hear you fuming from all the way over here."

Dean's hissed question startled Sam and he glanced quickly ahead but John hadn't turned around; he hadn't heard Dean speak.

Sam tightened his grip on his gun and nodded sharply, reminding himself that he really should be keeping an eye out for the ghost and not ruminating on a situation he couldn't change now.

When John stopped suddenly, Sam narrowly avoided walking right into him.

Collecting himself, Sam listened with as much interest as he could muster as his father told them that they should separate and search the warehouse that way.

Dean, as usual, was the first to object- not because he was trying to argue with John's plan, he probably thought it was fantastic, but out of concern for his sibling.

"Are you sure? Maybe Sammy and I should stick together."

John's dark brown eyes searched his younger son's face for a moment.

Sam didn't really want to hear Dean cuss at him for being in a mood so he told his father that he didn't mind being on his own.

"For," he finished, somewhat weakly, "You know… Practice."

John nodded and parted ways with his sons. Before Sam could head off in the opposite direction, Dean caught his elbow.

"Keep your head in the game, Sam," he reminded, giving him a wary look.

Sam, irritated even more with his brother's need to act like this was his first hunt, pulled his arm from Dean's grip and snapped at him.

"I know what I'm doing, Dean!"

With that, the teen stormed off through the empty warehouse, in search of the ghost he'd rather not be looking for.

_W_

Sam grumbled as he walked, unable to shake his bad mood, twirling his flashlight in his hand to cast curving light across the walls and floor.

Why did he even have to be here? Didn't he already know how to get rid of ghosts? This wasn't his first hunt for Pete's Sake!

As he reached the far end of the main floor of the warehouse, Sam found himself standing in front of a bank of elevators.

Deciding that he should search the top floors, he reached out and pressed the button to call the lift.

The old, dented doors opened with a loud groan and Sam stepped forward into the elevator shaft… and into open air.

He didn't even have time to cry out as he fell, arms flailing frantically for purchase and by some miracle of reflexes, he managed to grab the edge of the warehouse floor where it stopped and the elevator floor should have began.

The breath was knocked from Sam as he hit the side of the elevator shaft bodily, his cry for help escaping in a wheeze no one was sure to hear.

Sam struggled to pull himself up but he wasn't able to, his hands barely holding onto the smooth concrete floor.

"H-help," he croaked, terrified.

He couldn't hold on much longer. He was going to fall. Would his brother and Dad even be able to find him?

Tears squeezed out from Sam's eyes as his hands slipped, causing him to descend an inch or so. Already his fingers were cramping and his arms were screaming in pain from the effort of holding his weight.

"D-Dean," Sam breathed, unable to shout, "H-Help."

The teen slipped again, his sweaty hands moving closer and closer to the edge.

Clenching his eyes shut, Sam tried one more time to heave himself back up without success.

Eyes still closed, he cried out as he lost his grip on the edge of the warehouse floor and for one terrifying moment seemed to hover in mid-air before falling.

Sam gasped as an ice-cold hand grabbed his wrist roughly, halting his plummet down the elevator shaft.

With preternatural strength, the teen was pulled up out of the elevator shaft and deposited on the floor in front of it.

Sam took a moment to gather himself- his heart beating so fast that if felt as though it would explode- and looked up at his savior.

It wasn't Dean or John.

Instead it was a Hispanic man in his early twenties, wearing stained blue work coveralls. The man peered down at Sam with large, dark eyes for a moment and that was when the teen realized that with a sickening jolt that the left side of his rescuer's head was caved in.

Sam was staring at the ghost.

The teen opened his mouth to speak but before he could get a word out the spirit flickered out of existence.

"Sam!"

The teen turned towards the sound of his name and saw his brother and father running towards him.

"Are you alright? Did it hurt you? Why didn't you shoot it?"

Sam remained silent as his brother brought him to his feet; both his father and Dean had looks of real concern on their faces.

"It… He saved me."

"What?" John asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"I… I fell down the elevator shaft," Sam paused and gestured behind himself to the open lift doors, "And he grabbed my wrist… pulled me back up."

Dean's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I… wasn't paying attention and walked right into the shaft," Sam explained, embarrassment making his cheeks burn.

"Sam-" John began but Dean interrupted.

"The… the ghost," he said, licking his lips, "Didn't you say it was some Mexican kid who died on the job? We thought it was causing accidents… People falling from the machinery or the catwalks?"

John nodded, "Yeah, witnesses reported seeing his ghost around the time of the accidents."

Dean felt a smile begin to widen his mouth, "Maybe he wasn't killing people. Maybe he was trying to save them, like he saved Sammy."

John stared at both of his sons, shocked by the revelation.

"Are you going to get rid of him?" Sam asked.

Surprisingly, John sighed and shook his head, "No, Sam, just this once, I don't think this ghost needs to be taking care of."

He seems to be taking care of people here just fine, the unspoken words followed the Winchesters as they made their way out of the warehouse and back home.

**Author's Note**

**Rule Number 2 provided by elliereynolds777. It's a little different from the prompt she gave me but the theme is essentially the same. **

**Thanks to StyxxsOmega, scootersmom, elliereynolds777,TheFantasticLadyMax, firstcatfish, Snowball519, jensensgirl3, zodiacflame, Slytherin Studios, SamDeanLover28, Jenjoremy, HunterChic1807, CarverEdlund24 and Guest for reviewing.**

**Please take a moment to leave a review and a prompt if you have one!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Rule Number 3: Remind Sam to cut his hair when it gests too long**

Sam trudged through the thick-growth forest behind his father and brother. The fourteen-year old walked with his head bowed, watching the ground so he wouldn't trip over a tree root or exposed rock.

"Hurry up, Sammy," Dean's voice spoke suddenly from ahead of the boy and he looked up, brushing his long bangs away from his eyes.

From over Dean's shoulder, the ninth-grader caught sight of their father's disapproving glare. Sam bristled and hunched his shoulders, wondering what the hell was pissing John off now. Recently everything about Sam seemed to annoy John, from the fact that he actually did his homework to the way he talked.

Sam didn't know why his Dad had suddenly decided to find fault with everything about him. He wasn't _intentionally _trying to press his father's buttons; it was John who was changing, not him.

Sighing, the fourteen-year old followed along behind his brother and father obediently, clutching his pistol filled with silver bullets tightly in one hand. Although he had a flashlight it was turned off and shoved into the pocket of his jacket, a precaution against being targeted by their target.

It wasn't even dark yet, the sun only beginning to set but John had insisted on heading into the woods _before _night fell so that they would be in position for when the werewolf they were hunting became active.

After a couple of hundred or so feet, John halted and turned to his sons.

"Dean, you take Sam and head to the east," the eldest Winchester instructed, "Keep your brother close and the Walkie-Talkie at hand."

Dean nodded and promised he would follow his Dad's orders.

John turned his dark eyes on his youngest son.

"You listen to what Dean tells you," he ordered Sam as though the fourteen-year old was petulant enough to disregard anything his older brother told him to do.

The ninth-grader nodded, to avoid speaking and sounding sarcastic or something and watched as their father stalked off towards the west.

Dean gave Sam a smile and took out Walkie-Talkie, turning it on to hear a faint static sound.

"C'mon, let's find this bitch and kill her so we can get back," Dean announced, "'Death Wish' is on TV tonight."

Sam smiled and shook his head. He walked along beside Dean as his brother began moving again, heading in the opposite direction their father had taken.

_W_

"M-Maybe Dad's got it already?" Sam asked, trying to keep from panting and failing.

Dean kept up a brisk pace and with longer legs then his brother, wasn't tiring in the least.

Sam on the other hand, needed a rest, if only for a moment.

The fourteen-year old saw Dean's head shake in the darkness, "He'd have called us."

Sam sighed, knowing Dean was right.

It just seemed as though they had been walking for hours with no sign of the werewolf at all. Maybe it was no longer in the forest, but had moved to the town as it had been doing for the past two months, feeding at night during the full moon before slipping into the shadows of the trees before the sun rose.

John had asked around town and had found out there was a woman- a hermit of sorts- who lived in the woods and had so for years. It was only recently, however, that the werewolf attacks had been happening and John guessed that sometime in the past few months the woman had been attacked by a werewolf herself and now was a victim of the curse.

The only thing John hadn't been able to figure out though was whether the woman and the werewolf that had turned her were both terrorizing the city. That was why he had had his sons split up from him, something he wasn't inclined to do as a safety precaution.

Sam stumbled to a standstill behind his brother as two gunshots rang out in the darkness.

"Dad," Dean breathed and lifted the Walkie-Talkie.

"Dad? You there? Hey!" Dean spoke into the Walkie-Talkie and Sam cringed at the hint of fear in the eighteen-year old's voice.

The communication device sent out a burst of static, crackled and then John's voice spoke up, panting.

"I…got it…" he told his sons.

"Is it the chick?" Dean asked and Sam bit his lip.

John spoke but Sam didn't hear what he said because the sound of leaves rustling and branches snapping arose suddenly behind him and Dean.

The fourteen-year old barely had time to jump out of the way before a pair of dripping jaws thrust forward between the bushes and snapped shut inches from his face.

"SAM!" he heard his brother cry out in shock as he stumbled backwards, pointing his gun at the two glowing eyes following the jaws out of the bushes.

The ninth-grader squeezed off one shot before he turned and ran- it was the only thing he could do to avoid getting bitten in half- trampling through the trees blindly.

"SAM!"

He could hear Dean calling after him but he couldn't stop, he could hear the pounding of large paws coming up from behind him.

Oh God please, not like this; Sam thought desperately and cried out as he suddenly pitched forward, tumbling ass over teakettle down an embankment.

"Ah!" Sam cried out in pain as he landed, his long hair knotted in the branches of a low-hanging tree. Sam grabbed at the branch and tugged, trying to pull his hair free.

The sound of heavy footfalls shuffled above Sam, at the top of the embankment and the teen held his breath, closing his eyes fearfully.

A gunshot rang out above Sam and he instinctively tried to duck, only succeeding in tugging roughly at his scalp.

A second gunshot followed the first and the ninth-grader heard a pained whine and a loud thud of something big hitting the forest floor.

For a long moment silence reigned and then Dean's voice called out.

"Sam? Sammy? Where are you? Answer me!"

"H-here," Sam replied weakly, "Down here."

"Sam?" Dean's voice called again and Sam heard uncertain footfalls above him for a moment before Dean's flashlight beam cut through the darkness and pinned him.

"Sam! Jesus!"

The younger brother squinted against the bright light and watched as Dean slid down the low embankment.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Dean asked concernedly.

"I… I don't know," Sam admitted, if he was hurt, the fear and adrenaline had temporarily canceled out any pain he should be feeling.

Dean nodded, grim-faced and pulled out the Walkie-Talkie.

"Dad, we got the second one," he told John, "But Sam's hurt."

"How bad?" came the reply, which Sam thought seemed decidedly devoid of concern.

"Dunno," Dean answered, "I've gotta get a better look at him and I'll let you know. Meet you back at the car?"

"Fine," John replied and the Walkie-Talkie went silent.

Sam grimaced and tried to tug free of the branches, trying to hide a grimace of pain as he did so.

"What the heck did you do?" Dean asked, raising the flashlight to illuminate the tangled knot of tree branch and hair.

Sighing, Dean reached out and started pulling on Sam's tangled hair.

"Ow! Dean stop!"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean grumbled, "How the hell did you manage this?"

Sam grumbled and unintelligible answer.

"Maybe if you didn't have long girly hair this wouldn't have happened?" Dean suggested, trying to untangle his brother's locks as carefully as possible.

Sam didn't answer. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy.

That was another thing that seemed to tick John off so much recently, Sam's long hair. The oldest Winchester simply didn't understand why his youngest son didn't cut his hair short like Dean's.

"Sam? Sammy, you with me?" Dean asked and Sam lifted his head slightly, blinking.

"Yeah," he muttered.

"You're hair's not gonna untangle," his brother informed him, "And I don't think you want me to just rip it off the tree, right?"

"Hmmm," Sam answered.

"I'm gonna have to cut a bit off," Dean told him, "It's the only way. Okay?"

Sam didn't answer but watched as Dean pulled his switchblade from his pocket and began sawing at his hair, finally freeing it from the tree branch.

"Think you can stand?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, allowing his brother to grip his elbows to help him up.

Suddenly, Sam felt his gorge rise and leaned forward, puking.

"Oh Sammy," Dean muttered, ignoring the vomit splattering his shirt, jacket and shoes as well as his little brother.

Without any prompting, Dean reached down and swept Sam's legs out from under him, picking him up in a bridal-style carry, glad that his brother was so small for his age.

Sam, ignoring the vomit on his brother's shirt, snuggled his head against Dean's chest and closed his eyes.

_SPN_

"DEAN! What the hell did you do to my hair?!"

The eighteen-year old peered up from the television and tried to hide the smile that tugged at his lips.

John had agreed that they could stay at the motel until Sam's recovered from his injuries- a concussion, a sprained ankle and a bruised tailbone- and was currently in town, as the Federal agent he'd been posing as, to tie up the loose ends concerning the werewolf attacks.

The bathroom door slammed open and Sam glared daggers at the eighteen-year old. Dean schooled his face into a neutral expression.

The hair on the left side of his brother's head and a small patch on the top, was significantly shorter than the rest, making it look like Sam had tried to give his hair a cut before deciding he didn't want one.

"You remember last night? You're stupid girly hair was caught in a tree branch. When you ran away from the werewolf?"

Sam stopped and stared at him for a long moment, clearly trying to recall the incident.

"I didn't tell Dad about that, by the way," Dean told him, "He just thinks the bitch knocked you to the ground."

Sam didn't respond for a long moment.

"Thanks."

Dean shrugged and smiled.

"Sorry about your hair," he apologized, knowing how much his brother's hair meant to him.

Sam, wearing a chagrinned expression, shrugged, "It'll grow back."

Dean nodded, telling himself that he needed to remember to tell Sam to get a haircut soon before it grew any longer or they'd have a real problem while hunting.

**Author's Note:**

**Prompt for rule sent in my firstcatfish.**

**Thanks to StyxxsOmega, CeCe Away, reannablue, HunterChic1807, SamDeanLover28, scootersmom, elliereynodlds777, TheFantasticLadyMax, jensensgirl3, BranchSuper, Shannanigans, and Jenjoremy for reviewing.**

**Please leave a review and/or a prompt!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Rule Number 4: Never leave your phone on during a hunt.**

Sam Winchester stepped silently over the fallen leaves that had been scattered across the cemetery lawn by the chill October wind.

His brother walked along beside him, face set in determination, one hand holding a heavy metal flashlight, the other gripping a shotgun.

Sam, icy fingers curled around his own torch, swung the light across the grey and white gravestones, hazel eyes keen for any sign of movement.

The younger Winchester sucked in a deep breath, the air tinged with the cinnamon scent of drying leaves, acrid wood smoke, and just a hint of snow, heralding winter fast approaching.

"Where is she?" Dean asked in hushed tones, "You sure this is the right place?"

Sam didn't speak for a moment.

"Yes," he breathed, sweeping his flashlight in a long arch again to illuminate the headstones once more.

"Better be," Dean grumbled, "I'm freezing my ass-"

Sam froze and held up a hand, a signal that had his sibling silenced instantly.

Tilting his head to one side the same way he had seen Cas do when he was confused- Sam listened intently before taking a step forward.

Although the hunter was aware of the necessity of dispatching with the monster quickly, Sam shivered, a reaction not brought upon by the cold night air.

A ghoul had been digging up the fresh graves in this cemetery and Dean had insisted that it was their job to put an end to its all-night buffet. Sam agreed, of course, but he couldn't get his last encounter with ghouls out of his mind.

If he had half a mind, he could roll up the sleeves of his shirt and easily pick out the scars marring his inner arms from the ghouls that had tried to kill him, after gaining his trust and confidence by masquerading as John's third son, Adam, and his mother, Kate.

The Winchesters moved forward a few meters in complete silence, both men treading carefully to avoid crushing the fallen leaves that littered the grass, when the familiar chords of Deep Purple's 'Smoke on the Water' trilled out, making the younger hunter nearly jump out of his skin in surprise.

"_Dean_," Sam hissed in irritation as his brother fished his cell phone from his pocket and checked to see who was calling him.

"It's that chick from last night," Dean informed his brother, "From the bar."

Sam rolled his eyes skyward, "What was her name? Brandy?"

The younger Winchester remembered the girl well; with her long, platinum hair, big blue eyes accented by far too much makeup, a skimpy silver dress that barely concealed her ample breasts. Yes, Sam remembered how the girl- Brandy, Sherry, something like that- had been all over Dean and Dean had been just loving it.

"Champagne," the older hunter replied and Sam cringed.

Champagne? That couldn't possibly be her real name.

"Dean," Sam grumbled pointedly, "The ghoul? Put your phone away."

The older brother looked up at him for a moment, clearly torn between his duty as a hunter and his libido, and ended the call before it could go through to voicemail, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

Shaking his head in disgust, Sam pushed onward.

After five more minutes of searching and coming upon no one else in the dark graveyard, the trilling of Dean's ringtone once again interrupted the quiet.

"Dean!" Sam snapped as his brother grabbed his phone.

"Oh come off it," his brother argued, "It isn't like we've even found anything."

The younger Winchester turned away from Dean, "Catch up when you're finished talking to her."

Sam heard no reply from his brother and he guessed Dean had answered his phone. He was only a few feet away from his brother, out of the reach of his sibling's flashlight glow, when he caught sight of a dark shape moving stealthily between the gravestones ahead of him.

"Dean," Sam said but his brother didn't hear him.

"Dean!" he tried again, a little louder this time but again received no response.

Ire rising up in Sam because of Dean's decision to try and get laid instead of paying attention to the hunt, he hurried after the figure, slipping his own shotgun from where he had slung it across his shoulder.

Now not bothering to quiet his footsteps, Sam chased after the ghoul, awkwardly shoving his flashlight into his jacket pocket in order to hold the shotgun properly; he really wished Dean was with him, he could use his light.

Sam staggered to a stop, panting hard, squinting in the darkness, trying to figure out which of the shadows was the ghoul.

Suddenly the hunter was hit from the front, his attacker rushing him and he landed heavily on his back, knocking the air from his lungs.

Bright lights that had nothing to do with flashlights danced in front of Sam's eyes and he gasped as he left two strong hands wrap themselves around his throat.

"DEAN!" he called quickly before his oxygen cut off- and not a moment too soon because a second later he gasped weakly- his attacker attempting to crush his trachea.

_SPN_

It took a long moment before Dean realized that his brother was no longer within sight.

Ending his call with Champagne without saying goodbye, the hunter mentally kicked himself for his stupidity.

Never, NEVER let Sam go off on his own. That was a hard-learned lesson and one that Dean should have known by now.

But no, because they hadn't seen hide nor hair of their quarry, in a moment of weakness Dean had let his guard slip and let his attention stray from the only thing that was important- his brother.

Jamming his phone into his pocket, the older Winchester raised his flashlight high, scanning the surrounding graves for any sign of his sibling.

"SAMMY!" Dean shouted, not trying to be quiet and hurried forward, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Sam? Sammy? SAMMY?"

Dean's flashlight bounced as he ran, and frustrated with it, the hunter stowed it alongside his phone- the stars and full moon should offer enough light for what he needed- before continuing on, narrowly dodging gravestones in his panic to find his sibling.

"Sammy? Sammy! Sa-"

Dean's heart leaped from his chest into his throat as his shins met with an old limestone grave, reflecting the moonlight perfectly and rendered invisible in the near darkness, and he pitched forward, the shotgun going off as he fell.

_SPN_

Sam's hands fell away from his attacker's arms, weakened by lack of oxygen and unable to continue fighting. His vision, no longer blocked by bright flashes of light, was greying as his oxygen-deprived brain began to struggle to remain conscious.

He barely heard shotgun blast that tore through the stillness like an explosion but he greedily sucked in a lungful of air as his attacker's hands fell away from his neck.

"Sam? Sammy? Damn it, where are you?"

Through the ringing in his ears, the younger Winchester heard his brother's voice and he rolled onto his side, towards the sound, and wheezed a response.

"_Here."_

"Sammy!"

Sam's vision was clearing enough so that he saw Dean as his brother dropped to his knees beside him.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and Sam didn't speak again, concentrating only on getting as much air into his burning lungs as he could, hacking and coughing as he did so.

_SPN_

The brothers didn't speak much on the way back to their motel, Sam's throat was pretty battered, with swelling and bruises to show for the abuse, and Dean still felt guilty for nearly getting his sibling killed.

Cutting the Impala's engine and stepping from the car, Dean paused at the sidewalk in front of their motel room for his brother, watching in sympathy as Sam slowly climbed from the vehicle.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Dean asked the same question he'd asked about a half-dozen times as he and Sam had left the graveyard.

"M'fine," the younger Winchester whispered as he stepped up to the sidewalk, clearly in pain but not about to be melodramatic about it.

Dean nodded, knowing that Sam likely needed a couple of Tylenol's and a good night's sleep.

"Dean" Sam's questioning voice drew his attention to his brother.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"What did you do to your knees?"

Looking down, the older Winchester saw that the knees of his jeans were torn, the skin slick with blood. He must have bashed them pretty badly when he'd tripped over that gravestone.

"Nothing, Sammy," Dean insisted, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. Luckily the light over the sidewalk was dim and his brother wouldn't see his discomfort.

"Let's just go to bed," Dean told Sam as he unlocked the motel room door.

**Author's Note:**

**Prompt for this rule comes from Snowball519**

**Thanks to jensensgirl3, clamoring-minds, firstcatfish, Slytherin Studios, elliereynolds777, SamDeanLover28, scootersmom, StyxxsOmega, jo1966, BranchSuper, GuardianOfMusic27855, and Wolf77 for reviewing.**

**If anyone has more ideas for kookie, funny, or silly rules for the Winchesters, please leave in a review or PM. Thanks! And as always, please take a moment to comment.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Rule Number 5: Don't hunt for an hour after eating.**

"Are you sure you're okay?" Dean asked Sam the nth time since they had gone out on the lake.

The younger Winchester grimaced but nodded, trying to pretend as though his stomach wasn't doing flip-flops in his abdomen and cold rivulets of sweat were streaming down his face.

"How far do we have to go out?" Dean asked as he continued to row the small boat out, with no help from his brother, thank you very much.

"The last victim," Sam began, "Carl Lawrence, said he was sure he was about in the middle of the lake."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah, 'cause that guy seemed so reliable."

Mr. Lawrence, currently recovering from the monster attack in the local hospital, had insisted that he had gone onto the lake to do a bit of nighttime fishing but Dean hadn't missed the deep bags beneath the man's yellowish eyes nor the burst blood vessels in his bulbous nose, a sign of chronic alcoholism.

Five people had gone missing from the lake in the past two weeks. The first victim had been a fisherman, like Mr. Lawrence, who had failed to return home after going onto the lake to catch dinner for himself and his wife. His fishing gear- basket, extra bait and hooks, an egg salad sandwich and a can of Coca-Cola were found on the shore with no sign of the man at all. Not even the fishing pole he'd been using had been recovered.

The second and third victims had been a teenage boy and girl, who had swum out into the lake together to beat the heat. They too, vanished without a trace.

Next, a little boy who had gone to the lake with his parents had disappeared while his mother and father sat only a few feet away on the lakeshore. At first it was assumed the child had drowned, but when his body didn't wash up on shore, rumors of alien abduction and monsters like Lake Champlain's Champy or the Ogopogo of the Okanagan Lake of British Columbia began to abound and roused the interest of the Winchesters.

Carl Lawrence, the final victim, and presumably lone survivor of the beast, had described a kraken-like creature with tentacles and a razor sharp beak that had pulled him right out of his boat and into the water. At first local authorities had been quick to write off his story as the ravings of the town drunk, but then once doctors had had a chance to examine him, they had discovered four saucer-sized welts on the skin of his chest that could not be explained. Mr. Lawrence was adamant that the marks had come from the monster's tentacles.

"We're here," Sam spoke up in a weak tone, startling Dean out of his thoughts.

Instantly, the older Winchester stopped paddling, resting the two oars in the brackets on either side of the boat and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

At his feet, in the bottom of the boat sat two long fishing harpoons, ready for when the beast showed itself. According to Sam, the research said that the most vulnerable parts of the monster would be its large, disk-like eyes or its mouth; if they could get past its sharp beak.

"Are you-" Dean began again but Sam cut him off.

"I'm fine, Dean!"

The older brother sighed and decided that he might as well just drop it since Sam wasn't going to admit he wasn't feeling well.

Even if he was sweating buckets despite the cool night air, and the fact that his face was a white as a sheet and that his eyes were just a little too bright.

Dean sat back and glanced around the moonlit lake. They were out far enough so that he could still see the shoreline but it was only a long black streak in the distance.

A wave of unease crept through the hunter. Only a tiny metal rowboat and a couple of harpoons stood between them and a monster that had already killed four people. If this thing turned out to be more than he and Sam could handle, they would be trapped out here on the lake.

"Maybe we should head in a bit," Dean suggested, trying not to let his anxiety bleed through into his tone.

"This thing does come close to shore," he continued, "It grabbed those teens and that kid-"

Although Sam didn't answer- he was probably too green around the gills to do so- a sound did reach Dean, though it wasn't exactly something he wanted to hear.

A loud plopping splash sounded nearby, seemingly just off the left side of the boat, as though something heavy had been dropped into the water.

All of Dean's muscles grew tense and he scanned the water on that side of the boat, noticing the minute bubbles that popped up along the water's surface close to where the sound had come from.

Sam, having heard the sound as well, slowly reached down toward the harpoons in the bottom of the boat.

_Crash!_

Before Dean could react, a long, three-foot wide tentacles with saucer-sized suction cups on one side and hard-as-rock black scales on the other side, broke the surface of the water and wrapped itself around his brother's chest.

Sam gasped in shock, but that was all he had time to do before he was dragged into the lake by the hungry beast.

Dean grabbed one of the harpoons from the boat's bottom without even looking and held it ready, the vessel rocking violently from side to side.

"SAM!" Dean shouted and fearfully scanned the water, hoping to see his brother resurface.

"SAMMY!"

Seconds ticked by and Dean quickly realized that the monster was not going to reappear.

It didn't surface.

Nor did Sam.

Realizing that he had to act quickly or his brother would die- eaten by the kraken or drown, Dean took a breath and stepped off the boat and into the lake.

The frigid water closed in around the hunter and he gasped in shock, drawing in a lungful of the chilly liquid.

Legs kicking, Dean's head broke the surface of the lake, spluttering, before drawing in another breath and diving down, struggling to see in the murky water.

The harpoon in the hunter's hands was of a newer make and once Dean had found the button to turn on the flashlight attached to the weapons handle, a white beam cut through the churning water, making visibility a bit better.

Dean, his eyes wide, searched the muddy water for any sign of his brother or the monster.

There!

The hunter spied a dark shadow a few feet away, slipping past his field of vision behind a curtain of silt-saturated water.

Using his arms and legs to propel him, Dean swam towards the shadow he had seen, ignoring the strain in his lungs telling him he needed to get to air.

The flashlight on the harpoon illuminated a long, sinuous tentacle, sliding through the water only inches from Dean's face. The hunter struggled to stop his forward motion and, using the harpoon as a torch, waved it this way and that, searching for the monster's eye.

The hunter startled when a plate-sized yellow eyeball, complete with a vertically slit pupil, opened up next to the hunter, the pupil shrinking into a paper thin sliver against the harpoon's light.

Dean, his lungs now burning for oxygen, raised the weapon and drove the sharp, barbed end of the harpoon into the eye.

The kraken's reaction was instantaneous. It jerked away from the hunter, blood streaming out from its wounded eye, its tentacles whipping to and fro- one smacking Dean in the head and nearly knocking him unconscious- as it swam deeper into the lake.

The hunter shook his head, dazed before he could gather his bearings and began swimming after the injured beast.

Realizing that the monster was about to get away, Dean reached out and grabbed onto one of the fleeing kraken's tentacles. The squid-like creature drew the tentacle close to its body, ready to snap it out like a whip and shake the hunter off, when Dean- within striking distance again- shoved the harpoon into the beast's wounded eye as hard as he could.

The tentacle beneath Dean's hand grew stiff as a board for a moment before it went as limp as a cooked noodle. Still not satisfied the kraken had kicked the bucket; Dean used the heel of his hand to drive the harpoon's blade even further into the monster's eye.

The kraken's tentacle remained flaccid and Dean released it. Finding Sam was now his priority but he needed to get some fresh air or his lungs were going to explode.

As quickly as he could, the eldest Winchester kicked towards the surface of the water and sucked in a huge breath of air, hoping that maybe his sibling had done the same.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, eyes narrowed against the water streaming from his hair, the hunter scanned the water's surface, "Sam?"

He's still in the lake, Dean thought with a sickening jolt. How long had he been down there? Was it already too late?

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Dean dove beneath the water once again, wishing he had a light.

Kicking his tired legs, the hunter swam in the direction he hoped the kraken had drifted.

Now that he had had a chance to catch his breath, Dean actually felt a bit better, his lungs no longer feeling as though they were going to burst like overfull balloons.

Spurned on by his need to find his brother, Dean kicked harder and suddenly writhed as a burning pain raced up his left side.

For a second the hunter wondered if the kraken had managed to hurt him while he'd been distracted but then he realized he recognized this kind of pain. It was a cramp, a stitch in his side.

Dean gritted his teeth against the painful sensation, cursing the bacon cheeseburger he'd happily scarfed down not even an hour ago before heading out onto the lake.

Preoccupied with the cramp in his side, Dean failed to notice that the murky water had gotten considerably darker, as he almost swam right into the kraken's body.

Dean was shocked to find that he had swum all the way to the bottom of the lake. He squinted his eyes, trying to catch sight of his brother.

C'mon Sammy, where are you? Dean thought as he scanned the barely-visible coils of the monster's tentacles.

The eldest Winchester's heart skipped a beat when he spied a pale oval floating near a tangle of tentacles.

Swimming down towards the white form, Dean saw that it was Sam's face peeking out from underneath the kraken's tentacles.

Reaching down, the older brother grabbed his sibling's shoulders and tugged upwards. At first there was no movement, then slowly, inch by agonizing inch, Sam's unmoving body shifted out from beneath the tentacles.

Sand billowed up to obscure Dean's vision, grating against his open eyes but he ignored it, clenching his teeth as he wrapped one arm around his brother's chest and pushed up from the bottom with both feet, trying to propel both himself and Sam upwards.

The cramp in Dean's side flared up once again and he almost dropped his brother. Jaw tightened, Dean fought through the pain and pushed onward because if he didn't, Sam was dead.

_W_

Breaking through the water's surface for the final time, Dean gasped and panted, paddling with one arm to keep him buoyant while his other arm remained wrapped around his brother, keeping Sam's head above the water.

Glancing at his sibling, Dean saw Sam's hair plastered to his pale, blue-tinged face; eyes closed and feared the worst.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean muttered, "Let's get the hell out of here."

Scanning the surface of the water, the hunter caught sight of the boat a few meters away and began swimming towards it.

Minutes later- too many minutes, in Dean's opinion- the hunter had shoved his brother unceremoniously into the bottom of the tiny rowboat before joining him.

Sitting uncomfortably on one of the bench seat's, Dean leaned down and rolled his brother as well as he could onto his side and began rubbing his back vigorously.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean ground out, shivering, "C'mon, breathe, damn it."

He didn't know how much time had passed since the kraken had grabbed his brother and now, it felt like ages but in fact it had only been minutes and the longer Sam remained unresponsive, the more Dean feared he would not recover.

The elder Winchester, out of fear and desperation, dug the heel of his hand into his sibling's back, snarling at him.

"Wake up, Sam! Damn you!"

Suddenly, the younger Winchester shuddered and coughed, water and vomit spewing from his nose and mouth.

Dean laughed harshly and went back to rubbing Sam's back, between the shoulder blades.

"That's it, buddy," he encouraged, "You're doing great."

Sam gasped and opened his eyes, blearily staring up at his brother. Too weak to sit up, he remained in the bottom of the boat, his chest heaving as he focused all his energy on getting much needed oxygen into his battered body.

"You just relax," Dean said, "I got this."

Picking up the oars, he began paddling back towards the dark strip of the shore, vowing always to wait for at least an hour before going on any hunts where water was involved.

**Author's Note:**

**This rule came from a combination of a prompt from Jenjoremy and missingmikey.**

**Thanks to jensensgirl3, Jenjoremy, elliereynolds777, BranchSuper, StyxxsOmega, SamDeanLover28, and LeeMarieJack for reviewing.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Rule 6: Don't let your little brother out of your sight**

"…Okay, I've got it. Thanks for your help. No, we should be good now."

Dean listened anxiously as Sam finished with his call to Bobby. He looked up eagerly as his brother stuffed his cell phone into the pocket of his jeans.

"So, what are we up against?" Dean asked.

"A Gorgon," Sam replied and Dean frowned; that word sounded oddly familiar.

"Why-" the elder brother began but Sam, as though reading his mind, answered.

"Medusa was a Gorgon," he told Dean, "She was turned into a monster for offending the goddess Athena."

"What she do to Athena?" Dean asked curiously, "Steal her man?"

Sam didn't return the smile that had come across his sibling's face at the thought of ancient Greek gods and maidens acting like petty high schoolers.

"Poseidon raped Medusa in Athena's temple," Sam answered.

"Oh…uh, shit that sucks," Dean muttered.

Changing the subject from the reason for Medusa's punishment Sam continued, "Bobby doesn't think we're dealing with the real Medusa or her sisters but some sort of descendent."

"Wait," Dean held up a hand, "She has sisters?"

"Two of them," Sam confirmed, "Stheno and Euryale."

"And did they get turned into monsters too?"

Sam nodded.

"What the fuck is wrong with Greek gods?" Dean asked out loud.

Sam just shrugged.

"Did Bobby say how we kill this thing?" the elder Winchester asked and the younger nodded, "The same way it was done in legend: get the Gorgon to see its reflection and petrify itself."

"That sounds easier said than done," Dean commented.

Sam agreed, thinking of the poor people now lying paralyzed in the city's local hospital.

The attacks had started up about four weeks ago, at first not setting off any warning signs that the perpetrator was something supernatural. The victims had been attacked at night and many were members of the city's large homeless community.

Then, a businesswoman who had been walking her dog in the later hours had met the Gorgon; both the lady and her Pomeranian paralyzed.

Now there was a police curfew in effect, trying to prevent anymore attacks but just as always, people thought it was okay to break it and a group of teenage boys out prowling the deserted streets had been the latest victims.

Although legend described Medusa as being able to turn men into stone with one look, the civilians now lying in the hospital were in a state of paralyzed catatonia. They were not dead despite the fact that all their muscles seemed to be as hard as rock beneath their skin as doctors frantically searched for a way to reverse the affects of the strange affliction. Sam didn't think they could be helped and would remain the rest of their days as living statues.

"Do we have any idea where this bitch is?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"There's a boarded-up bar downtown that keeps having trouble with people prying off the plywood covering the back door and sneaking inside," Sam replied, "The only problem is, the plywood has some pretty clear signs that it has been scratched at by something sharp like claws recently."

Dean frowned, "How do you know that?"

Sam's expression grew sheepish; "I might have checked it out while you were at the library today."

"Sam! Why didn't you wait for me? You could have gotten hurt! Did you go in too or-"

The younger brother shook his head, "I heard about it from checking out the police reports. The property owner complained to the cops about it and they apparently can't do anything about the 'vandalism' unless they catch whose doing it. I didn't go inside, Dean, I'm not stupid."

Dean grumbled but decided to drop the topic.

"Are we ready to kill this thing?" Dean asked instead.

"We just need a couple of mirrors," Sam told him.

Checking his watch, the older Winchester stood, "Let's get going then, we'll buy the stuff we need and then head over to the bar before it gets too dark."

_W_

Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he parked the Impala across the street from the empty bar.

He normally didn't get nervous like this before a hunt- he was more likely to be excited- but this wasn't going to an easy kill-the-baddie-then-get-out kind of gig.

Not when they couldn't even look at the monster they were trying to kill.

Sam had told him that Bobby had suggested they close their eyes while in the bar because he wasn't sure if it was the Gorgon's face that would petrify them or her body in general.

The idea of stumbling around an abandoned bar did not turn Dean's crank at all.

Besides, if he kept his eyes closed, how could he keep an eye on Sam?

No, Dean decided he was not going to like this hunt at all.

Cutting the Impala's engine, Dean climbed from the driver's side as Sam exited the passenger's.

The mirror Dean held cut coldly into the side of his hand as he jogged across the street beside his brother, ducking into the alley beside the bar and into the small rear courtyard that was covered with grease-stains, old cigarette butts and bits of broken glass.

The sun was only starting to go down and although Dean would have liked to go after the Gorgon at noontime, they couldn't risk the monster having one more night to claim another victim.

Across the bar's backdoor was a large rectangle of pressboard, visible gouges cut out along either side of it.

Even though hooligans breaking into the bar had incensed the owner, the plywood board was not nailed down and Dean easily moved it aside.

"You ready?" he asked Sam and his brother nodded, his grip tightening noticeably on the mirror he carried.

Yanking the door open, Dean stepped into the dark back room of the bar.

The first thing the hunter noticed as his brother stepped in behind him and pulled the door closed, was the pervasive smell of stale alcohol and dust. It was clear that the building had been in disuse for a long time- months, maybe even as long as a year.

The second thing Dean noticed was just how dark it was. The hunter could barely see an inch in front of his face. He could only tell that Sam was close by because he could hear his brother breathing quietly and feel the heat coming off his body.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Dean pulled out the small penlight he had stashed there, just in case. Flicking the light on, he shone the thin beam around the immediate area; trying to get an idea of where everything was so he wouldn't bark his shins against the furniture.

"Dean," Sam said quietly but the older brother ignored him.

"There's a staircase on the other side of the room that must lead up to the bar itself," Dean told Sam and the younger man followed his gaze.

"Okay," Sam acknowledged, "Cut the light though."

Dean did as his brother asked and turned off the penlight, returning it to his pocket and walking carefully across the storeroom towards the far end.

The Winchesters carefully climbed the staircase leading to the bar, struggling to keep quiet as the wooden planks groaned and creaked under their weight.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean muttered as he reached the top of the stairs and pulled on the doorknob, finding the jamb stuck against the doorframe swollen, "How is this Gorgon supposed to see her own reflection if its dark like this?"

Dean heard Sam give an exasperated sigh from behind him, "She can see in the dark, Dean."

The older brother didn't reply but put his full weight into the door and it opened reluctantly with a screech of wood against wood.

Stumbling ever so slightly onto the upper floor, Dean looked around, waiting to see if his eyes would adjust to the darkness.

They did. He was able to make out the darker, brooding shapes of the bar's silent denizens- chairs and tables, a foosball and pool table, the bar itself hovering along one wall.

"Close your eyes," Sam instructed and for a moment Dean didn't before he slowly lowered his eyelids.

This is so stupid, he thought, how are we supposed to find the Gorgon when we can't even see-

The hunter stopped his thought as realization dawned on him.

They weren't going to search for the monster; Sam was planning on it finding them. That was why he was adamant that they keep their eyes closed, in case they be caught by surprise.

A sliver of fear slipped down Dean's spine and he remained where he was, suddenly afraid to move.

Sam, coming up behind him, knocked his shoulder and moved forward without a word.

"Sammy!" Dean whispered frantically, barely able to make out his brother's tall form in the darkness.

"Dean?" Sam asked, turning partway to try and see him.

"Be careful," the older brother advised and Sam assured Dean he would.

The hunter slowly made his way across the bar, one hand out so that he wouldn't run into anything, fingers trailing along tarp-covered pieces of furniture.

It was so quiet that Dean's own breathing seemed extremely loud in his ears. He couldn't even hear Sam's footsteps anymore.

_Shhusshh shhusshh shhusshh_

Dean paused as a barely perceptible sound broke through the silence. It was like someone was dragging something heavy across the floor, pausing for a couple of seconds before moving onwards.

The hunter, his heart skipping a beat, clenched his eyes shut and gripped his mirror tightly, the edge cutting into his hand.

_Shhusshh shhusshh shhusshh_

"Sam," Dean breathed, hoping that his brother would hear- if he hadn't heard the sound already- and have time to protect himself.

Muscles tense for the attack, Dean began to raise the mirror when something thick and heavy hit him on the side of the head and bright flashes of light appeared before his eyes before he lost consciousness, slumping unceremoniously to the floor.

_W_

Dean woke slowly, groggily, confused.

It took him a moment to realize why it was dark and why the side of his head was throbbing like a son of a bitch.

Raising himself up on his elbows, the hunter gingerly touched his head, grimacing at the sticky feel of blood beneath his fingers.

"Sam?" Dean called out as he got to his feet, fingers searching for his mirror and finding it, unbroken, underneath the pool table.

"Sammy?" Dean called out again.

He waited for a second and when he received no response he knew something was wrong.

A vision of his brother, hands held up in a futile attempt to protect his eyes, paralyzed and helpless, rose unbitten in Dean's mind and he gritted his teeth, telling himself that Sam was alright.

Taking a step forward, the hunter gasped as a wave of vertigo overcame him and he nearly lost consciousness for a second time.

"C'mon," Dean whispered to himself, "Sam needs you."

Fighting through the dizziness, Dean moved forward, listening intently for any sound that would give his brother away.

Across the room, behind the bar, came a faint rustle of clothing and what sounded like nails going down a chalkboard, causing Dean's hair to stand on end.

"Sammy," Dean spoke his brother's name and, despite the risks, grabbed his penlight again and turned it on, illuminating a thin path across the room.

Lifting the light higher, Dean froze when he made out an upper torso, and head that definitely belong to his brother. The Gorgon had its back to Dean and from what the hunter could see, the creature looked more snake than woman.

Starting from the nape of the woman's neck were small, brown scales that grew in number across her shoulders and the portion of her back that Dean could see. The Gorgon's head, just as legend foretold, was covered in tiny, writhing snakes with scales the same colour as the ones on her back.

Dean could see the curve of a full breast as she turned slightly; her arms raised shoulder-level as she struggled with something or someone standing in front of her.

The hunter felt his stomach lurch as he recognized the large form standing opposite the Gorgon; it was Sam.

"No," Dean breathed, his fears once again coming to the forefront of his mind and he stepped forward, penlight held high, not even concerned for his own safety.

As he approached the bar, the eldest Winchester could see his brother with more clarity. Sam stood with his back pressed against the empty shelves behind the bar; his eyes squeezed shut, a grimace of pain on his face.

Dean saw why. The Gorgon had one hand, tipped with talons, gripping Sam's shoulder tightly, drawing blood, while the other hand was tangled in the hunter's longish hair.

Glancing down, Dean saw that the lower half of the Gorgon was no longer that of a human and instead ended in a thickly coiled serpent's tail, the tail itself wrapped around Sam's legs. His brother's mirror lay smashed a few yards away.

The monster was so focused on Sam that she didn't even notice Dean's approach or even the thin beam of the penlight.

Before Dean could distract her away from his brother, he noticed that all was not as silent as he had first thought.

The Gorgon was talking, speaking to Sam in a pleading voice.

"Look at me," she said in a voice halfway between a feminine human tone and a snake's hiss, "Please, why won't you look at me?"

With a jolt, Dean wondered if the Gorgon even realized what she looked like and why no one ever wanted- or could- look at her.

Shoving those thoughts to the side as the monster continued to speak entreatingly to Sam- please, oh please, I won't hurt you, look at me- he raised his voice.

"Hey bitch!" Dean shouted as loud as he could, "Why don't you take a look for yourself and see why no one wants to look at you!"

The hunter closed his eyes before the words had even left his lips so he didn't see the Gorgon whip around towards him with lightning speed and gaze longingly into the mirror he held.

Dean heard the creature gasp- a gasp that was both shocked and sad- before it was cut off abruptly.

Carefully, the hunter eased one eye open an inch and saw the Gorgon, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open, snake hair froze mid-writhe, a living statue.

Avoiding looking directly at the monster's face, Dean grabbed the tarp that covered the bar and draped it over her head.

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean reached out and touched his brother, fearing the worst.

The younger man flinched and slowly opened his eyes.

"Dean!" he gasped and then saw the shroud-covered Gorgon inches from him.

"Is she?"

Dean nodded, "Worked like a charm."

Carefully the older brother helped Sam pull his legs out from the stiffened coils of the monster and they both took a step back, breathing heavily.

"I d-din't even h-hear you," Sam panted, "I j-just wasn't g-gonna open m-my eyes."

"That probably helped give me the element of surprise," Dean told his brother.

"What should we do with her?" Sam asked, one hand unconsciously going up to his injured shoulder, "We can't leave her here."

Dean smiled, "Take her with us. Maybe Bobby can put her on his lawn to scare away trespassers."

Sam chuckled quietly.

"I feel sort of sorry for her," he commented, "She didn't even know what she looked like. She just wanted people to look at her."

Dean grunted noncommittally.

"Let's get her out of here and head over to Bobby's," he said, more than ready to leave.

Sam nodded and walked around the bar, starting to make his way through the bar.

"Hey Sam!" Dean called, "Stay where I can see you!"

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks to Links6, elliereynolds777, jensensgirl3, StyxxsOmega, SamDeanLover28, GuardianOfMusic27855, BranchSuper, and reannablue for reviewing. **

**If anyone has an idea for another 'rule' I'd love to hear it! **

**Comments are love.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Rule 7: Always wear clean underwear**

Dean opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand that stood between the two motel beds.

It was a quarter to seven at night.

The hunter sat up and rubbed a hand tiredly over his face before peering to his right and seeing his brother already sitting up in bed. Sam sat with his back pressed against the headboard of his bed, a battered, water-stained copy of _Watership Down _held open in his hands though it was clear from his expression that he wasn't reading.

Dean stretched his arms over his head and was about to ask his brother when he had woken up but checked himself.

He knew Sam hadn't slept a minute, and how could he, with Hell rattling around in his head and Lucifer on his shoulder.

"Mind if I take first shower?" The eldest Winchester asked instead and Sam nodded almost imperceptivity.

Standing up and grabbing his duffel bag from where he had left it at the foot of his bed, Dean headed into the small bathroom to wash away the sleep from his mind and body and prepare himself for the hunt ahead.

_W_

Exiting the bathroom fifteen minutes later, the eldest Winchester noticed that Sam hadn't moved from his spot on the bed.

"Shower's free," he spoke quietly, almost as though he were in a library or a museum.

The younger hunter looked up and Dean held back the urge to frown and tell Sam that he could handle the hunt by himself tonight and that he should get some rest- but didn't speak, knowing it would do no good anyway.

Sam's eyes were dark green- almost black with exhaustion- and peered out from even darker circles like bruises surrounding them. The stubble that had shadowed his chin and cheeks only a couple of days earlier now looked as though it was striving fiercely to become a beard proper. Dean couldn't be sure- he didn't usually pay attention to such things- but he was almost certain that his brother was wearing the same clothes he had been for the past three days.

Dean was glad that he hadn't let Sam come along with him to the police station or to interview the witnesses of the attacks- his brother looked less like an FBI agent and more like a hobo- and made a mental note to get his sibling to try and focus on his personal hygiene a bit more.

"You ready?" his brother's voice jolted him from his thoughts and Dean nodded.

"You sure you can do this?" the eldest Winchester asked before he could stop himself.

Sam looked up at him, his expression for a split second was hurt before it hardened and he assured Dean that he was fine.

Knowing he had probably already gone too far, the eldest Winchester said nothing as he led the way out to the parking lot towards the Impala.

_W_

Dean's feelings of concern for his brother dried up- at least for the time being- as he kept in stride with Sam, a pistol loaded with silver bullets gripped tightly in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

Sam also carried a gun and his cell phone, staring at the map on the screen with the locations of the Black Dog attacks that had been occurring in the park over the past four weeks.

Several people had been killed- hikers and campers- while even more had barely escaped with their lives after witnessing the brutal deaths of their friends or loved ones.

Now, the park rangers were keeping overnight campers out of the area and even were going so far as to patrol the more heavily populated camping grounds for anyone foolish enough to be in the woods at night.

The local authorities believed that a cougar was responsible for the killings, despite what the witnesses claimed- it was dark, and there was no way they could really be certain of what they saw- and since there were no wolves in the area and only the occasional black bear, which rarely attacked people- the wild cat theory appeared to have stuck.

Dean's attention focused on his brother when Sam looked up into the woods around them- they were on a narrow hiking path- and stopped walking.

"What is it, Sammy?" the older brother asked, raising his gun to be ready for an attack, but then his sibling shook his head and continued onward.

"We should be getting closer to the Dog's territory?" Dean asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Sam didn't reply.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice slightly louder.

His brother continued walking forward; not even seeming to notice Dean hadn't caught up with him.

"SAM!" the older hunter snapped and his brother looked up sharply, half-turning to face him.

Abruptly, suddenly, before either Winchester could react, a patch of darkness tore itself from the surrounding shadows and ploughed into the younger Winchester's back, driving him to the ground.

"SAMMY!" Dean shouted, belatedly thinking: that thing was behind us, it was following us; it must have been.

Raising his weapon, the eldest Winchester squeezed off two shots into the creature's exposed back. Even as the Black Dog howled in pain, Dean heard Sam cry out as well.

"SAMMY!" Dean called a second time and fired his gun a third time, the bullet slamming into the back of the Black Dog's head, killing it instantly.

"Sam? Sammy!" the older brother cried and dropped to his knees beside his sibling, shoving the body of the monster off Sam and raising his flashlight to assess the damage.

Sam lay crumpled on the floor of the path, head turned to one side. Dean felt his stomach fill with ice when he saw the back of his brother's shirt darkening with blood and more blood matting his hair and the nape of his neck.

"Sammy? Sam? Can you hear me? Sam? Answer me!"

Leaning over his brother, Dean felt his heart skip a beat when he saw that Sam's eyes were open, just barely but they were glazed, with a far away look in them.

"Sammy?" he whispered, realizing that there was no way his brother was walking out of this forest.

Sitting up and panning his flashlight around, Dean spied Sam's cell phone lying a few feet away, facedown on a protruding rock.

Reaching out, the hunter grabbed the phone and smiled when he saw the screen unbroken. Pushing the home button and thumbing in Sam's password, Dean held his breath as he waited for a signal.

A groan from his younger sibling drew Dean's attention to Sam for a moment.

"D'n," Sam whimpered.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean murmured as he watched one and then two bars appear on the screen, "It'll be okay."

Dialing 911, Dean requested an ambulance to come to the campground because there had been another 'cougar' attack and his brother needed help. The dispatcher assured Dean that an ambulance was on its way to his location as they spoke and would be there in roughly ten minutes.

Shoving Sam's phone into his pocket, Dean returned his attention to his brother and, reaching out, took one of his hands to comfort him as much as he could until the paramedics arrived.

_W_

Dean opened the door to Sam's hospital room quietly. He had just finished speaking with his brother's doctor and was concerned about what he'd been told.

The Black Dog- or cougar, depending on who you asked- had managed to rake its claws down the younger Winchester's back, gouging him deeply enough to require stitches and had bit into back of the hunter's head before his brother had been able to kill it. Dean didn't much like the gashes in Sam's back but what really troubled him was the bite- and concussion from his fall- to his head.

Closing the door behind him, Dean was surprised when Sam raised his head slightly at the sound of the jamb clicking into place.

"Sammy?" he said and stepped forward, grabbing the chair set aside for visitors, pulling up to the hospital bed and taking a seat.

The younger Winchester was lying on his stomach because of the stitches in his back, his head resting on a starched, white pillow; the blood cleaned away from the bite marks. An IV line trailed from Sam's left hand to a pole standing beside the bed, giving the hunter painkillers and antibiotics to fight off possible infection.

"Sammy?" Dean spoke again but when he looked into his brother's face, he saw that his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and steady.

The older Winchester smiled, glad that Sam was getting a chance to sleep.

Standing, Dean made his way to the stocky, white laminate-coated wardrobe beside the bed, on Sam's other side and found the clothes his brother had worn into the hospital, neatly folded and placed into a plastic bag, despite the bloodstains coating them.

Dean took the bag and opened it, deciding that he could get Sam some clean clothes to wear from his duffel in the Impala's truck.

Peering into the bag at the ruined clothing, still tacky with blood, Dean pulled back at the smell that wafted up; not only of blood but also of body odors.

"Whew Sammy," Dean waved a hand in front of his nose in an exaggerated way even though his sibling was asleep and wouldn't hear his teasing, "I sure hope you at least had the decency to wear clean underwear. Those poor nurses if you didn't."

Closing the bag back up, the hunter silently left the hospital room; grateful that he still had his brother even with all the baggage he carried.

**Author's Note:**

**This rule comes from reannablue.**

**Thanks to GuardianOfMusic27855, CarverEdlundtheLast, BranchSuper, pryde23, SamDeanLover28, and StyxxsOmega for reviewing. **

**If you have an idea for a 'rule' I'd love to hear it. You can leave it in a comment or through Private Messaging.**

**Please don't forget to review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Rule 8: Don't leave M&amp;Ms in the hot sun**

Dean leaned forward in the Impala's front passenger seat and turned up the volume on the radio as John Fogerty began to belt out, "Eye Of The Zombie" and even his father began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove.

From the back seat of the classic Chevy, Sam groaned and wiped a forearm over his brow, his skin slick with sweat despite all four windows in the vehicle being wide open.

"Are we there yet?" the eleven-year old asked, his eyelids heavy with the heat.

"We still have a few hours to go," John replied and Sam sighed.

The Winchesters were heading towards Corpus Christi, Texas where a Chupacabra was attacking unattended pets and small children in the Flour Bluff neighbourhood.

The eleven-year old closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep before they arrived at their destination. Soon, the oppressive heat and motion of the Chevy eased the youngest Winchester into a light slumber.

_W_

"W-Where are we?" Sam stammered tiredly as the Impala ground to a halt and he sat up, grimacing as he pulled his damp t-shirt away from his chest where it had stuck with sweat.

From his seat ahead of Sam, Dean turned to face his brother.

"Gas station," the fifteen-year old answered and Sam glanced out the window, seeing a run-down row of four pumps and a small store, coated with dust.

Besides the station, there was nothing else around. The road the Winchesters were on was bordered on both sides by an endless yellow-sand desert, broken only occasionally by a jut of red sandstone or a dark green cactus.

"You two want to come in?" John asked as he opened his door.

Dean instantly jumped at the chance and followed their father out, standing beside the pump impatiently as he waited for John to top up the Impala and head inside where there would be snacks.

Sam remained where he was. He didn't care to go into the convenience store. Knowing Dean, he wouldn't take long to find something he wanted.

The eleven-year old rubbed a hand over his eyes before he placed his forearm along the open window and rested his chin on his arm, staring out at the desert.

_SPN_

Dean went ahead of John into the convenience store, making a beeline for the candy section.

"All right!" he exclaimed happily at the sight of three different kinds of M&amp;Ms- almond, peanut and milk chocolate- and grabbed a couple of yellow baggies.

"Dad!" the fifteen-year old called to his father who was up at the front of the store, paying for the gas, "Can I get these?"

John turned as his eldest son came towards him from the candy aisle. It was clear from the expression on the hunter's face that he was in a hurry and would rather not be delayed with buying treats for his teenage son. However, he turned back to the pretty, young Latino girl behind the counter, and spoke to her, "The candy too."

"Did you get something for your brother?" John asked and Dean frowned for a moment before reaching out to the shelve of snacks in front of the cash register and grabbing a bag of Snyder's Honey Mustard and Onion flavoured Pretzel Pieces and setting them down on the counter alongside the M&amp;M's.

After paying for the snacks, John handed them to Dean and followed him outside. The teen noticing two large motorcycles propped up in front of two pumps, their owners nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Sammy!" Dean called and tossed the pretzels through the open back passenger-side window closest to him and froze.

The bag of pretzels landed heavily on the Impala's bench seat, its empty seat. Sam was not in the car.

"Sammy?" Dean asked and peered through the window to the other side of the car, thinking that maybe his brother had decided to stretch his legs after all.

"Sam!" John barked, his tone commanding his youngest son to appear from wherever he was that instant.

Dean trotted around to the right side of the Chevy and threw his own snacks onto his seat before gazing out at the desert landscape surrounding them.

"Sammy!" Dean called, his heart beginning to pound with fear, his palms clammy with nervous sweat.

"SAM!" John shouted, louder than his son.

Suddenly, the father turned and saw two young men, one of Mexican descent and one with blond hair and blue eyes- both wearing denim jackets, red bandanas on their heads, jeans and black leather hobnail boots- run out from behind the convenience store, where the bathrooms were located, jump on their motorcycles as though Hell Hounds were chasing them and peel away from the station with a scream of rubber.

Dean's heart dropped down into his stomach even as it began trotting with fear. Something was very wrong.

"Sammy!" the fifteen-year old called his brother's name and headed around to the back of the store, John following right behind him.

For a moment Dean didn't see his brother. All he saw was an upright glass-windowed freezer with bags of ice inside and a hulking green dumpster. Three doors were outlined along the back wall of the building itself; one was a men's restroom, one a women's' and the third a rear entrance to the store- probably leading into the storage area- then he noticed the crumpled form curled against the dumpster.

"Sammy," Dean breathed and rushed forward, John at his side.

The eleven-year old sat with his legs pulled up to his chest but his arms dangled at his sides. His head rested against the side of the rusty, flaking dumpster. The boy's eyes were closed.

"Sammy?" Dean called and his brother's eyes fluttered.

"Dean?" he whispered, "Dad?"

Sam tried to shift his position and gasped in pain, arms wrapping around his middle. Dean saw that blood had flowed from his nose down his face and was already drying on his chin.

"What happened?" the older brother asked and reached out to place his hands beneath Sam's armpits and lifted him closer, raising his t-shirt to examine his abdomen. Dean frowned at the bruises darkening the skin across his sibling's trunk. Carefully, the fifteen-year old reached out with his free hand and prodded Sam's ribs, checking for any cracks or breaks.

The eleven-year old whimpered but spoke, eyes focusing on his father's face as Dean continued his examination.

"D-Did you s-see those two g-guys?"

"We did," John answered, his tone tight and unhappy.

"Th-they pulled up beside us a f-few minutes after you and Dean went inside," Sam continued, "The- OW!"

"Sorry, Sammy," the fifteen-year old murmured apologetically.

"They s-saw the car and a-asked about it. They w-wanted to s-see if they c-could buy it or s-something," Sam kept speaking though his voice was becoming fainter.

"I s-said no," he told them, "And th-they turned and I th-thought they were g-gonna go inside. The one with blond hair went a-around the b-back of the car and grabbed m'arm and pulled m-me out…he opened the d-door and pulled me out."

"The-Then the other one grabbed my arm too a-and they dragged me behind the s-station," Sam whispered.

"Why didn't you call for help?" John asked, as Dean finished his exam of Sam's ribs and lowered his shirt back into place.

The eleven-year old raised an arm and wiped it across his nose, smearing the skin with blood.

"They c-covered my mouth so I couldn't," he answered dejectedly, "S-Shoved… They shoved me into the wall and held me there. One of them punched me in the face… I don't r-really remember a whole lot after that… Then they kicked me…"

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured and slipped a gentle arm across his brother's shoulders. Miraculously he hadn't felt any broken ribs but they had certainly taken a beating and were bruised, if not cracked, and would be sore for a few weeks, maybe a month or two.

"Then you started calling my name," Sam started again, "And they got scared and ran."

John clenched his hands into fists. If he had known that was why those two punks had running for their bikes as though the Devil himself was chasing them, he'd have stopped them and given them something to be afraid of.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, "I think so."

With both hands once again beneath his baby brother's armpits, the fifteen-year old stood, drawing Sam up with him. The younger Winchester grimaced in pain and his breath came in panting gasps but he was standing, if hunching a bit.

"Let's just get to Corpus Christi," John told his sons as he led them slowly around to the front of the convenience store.

Dean opened the Impala's back door closest to them and Sam crawled into the vehicle, whimpering in pain. Only once he was sitting in his seat behind Dean's, did the older brother close the door.

"You alright, Sam?" John asked as Dean made his way around to his side of the car.

"Yeah," Sam replied shortly, clearly still in pain from his battered ribs.

Dean dropped down into his own seat and picked up one of the bags of M&amp;Ms.

"Why don't you lay down?" the eldest Winchester suggested, "Try and get some rest."

As John started the Impala's engine and began to pull away from the gas station, Dean tore open the bag of candies and eagerly stuck his hand in.

"Hey!" he exclaimed and withdrew his hand, his fingers slick with melted chocolate.

Peering into the bag in irritation, the fifteen year old saw that his M&amp;M's had been reduced to a sticky mess of gloopy chocolate and candy with peanuts suspended in it.

The candies had melted in the hot Texas sun.

"Hey Sammy? Are you gonna eat those pretzels?" Dean asked his brother.

Without a response, the eleven-year old handed the snack over to his sibling.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean replied and opened the bag, shoving a handful of pretzel pieces into his mouth.

"Here."

Sam looked up and saw his brother proffering an open bag of pretzels.

The eleven-year old smiled, despite his sore ribs and took a handful of the snack.

"Thanks, Dean."

**Author's Note:**

**Rule suggested by Reannablue. This one is more on the humorous side, especially after the last one, which wasn't really until the end, but I just had to go with the Black Dog attacking Sam. If you've been with me for a while, you know my style and my penchant for hurt!Sam and caring, protective Dean.**

**Thanks to CarverEdlundtheLast, elliereynolds777, reannablue, jensensgirl3, SamDeanLover28, GuardianOfMusic27855, StyxxsOmega, and TheFantasticLadyMax for reviewing.**

**Please leave a suggestion for a 'rule' and/or a review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Rule 9: Report all vehicle damage to a car-obsessed big brother immediately**

Sam couldn't believe it!

It just wasn't fair! Dean thought just because he was older, he could tell him what to do.

Sam glared around at the three other cars parked in the gravel lot stood in front of the forested series of hiking trails where the monster they were hunting hid.

Where the monster _Dean's _hunting is hiding, Sam corrected himself and sat back against the seat with his arms crossed over his chest.

Just because he had a little bit of a cold didn't mean he couldn't hunt, Sam thought moodily before he leaned forward to dig through the glove compartment frantically.

Finding what he was looking for, the younger Winchester grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped at his dripping nose.

Sighing, Sam closed his eyes as a chill ran through his entire body and he shivered.

Okay, maybe a little cold was a bit of an understatement, Sam admitted. Especially when his head felt ten sizes too big for his neck, and his throat felt as though he'd been swallowing shards of glass and his nose streamed like it was trying to outdo Niagara Falls.

But Sam still thought that he could hunt.

He hated being told to wait in the car; it made him feel like he was a kid again, before John would let him go on any hunts with them and he was forced to watch over the Impala, as though that was an important part of the job.

Ah well, Sam guessed he should be grateful for the reprieve from hunting. At least he was getting a bit of a break at all. If their father had been there, he would have told Sam to suck it up and forced him to traipse through the woods all the while he was wracked with fever and snorting back snot the whole time.

Leaning back against his seat again, Sam closed his eyes, trying to get some rest while he waited for Dean.

_W_

Sam's eyes snapped open at the sound of his cell phone going off. Sitting up in his seat he pulled the phone from his pocket and saw from the Caller ID that it was Dean calling him.

"Yeah?" Sam asked as he answered the call.

"Get over here, Sammy! With the car!" Dean panted into the speaker, his tone urgent.

"Dean? Are you alright?" the younger brother asked, his heart skipping a beat.

"Just get over here! Trail 3, the red one!"

Without even saying goodbye, Sam ended the call and shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jacket, at the same time sliding over to the driver's seat of the Classic Chevy.

Starting the engine, Sam held back the feeling of a sneeze coming on and he maneuvered the car towards the dirt path that ran up through the woods- a wooden arm crossing the way to prevent vehicles larger than a stroller or bicycle from getting through- and towards the numerous hiking trails.

Sam stepped on the accelerator and broke through the wooden barrier, the tires rolling over it with muted crunching sounds.

He had no idea where Trail 3 was- he couldn't remember even though he had marked out each of the trails on the map he had grabbed a couple of days before at the Ranger's Station. Once he had crossed onto the path, Sam slowed the Impala to nearly a crawl and searched the trees on either side for signs of the trail he was looking for.

It took nearly five minutes for Sam to find Trail 3. He would have missed it completely but for the smear of flaking red paint marking a vertical slash across the trunk of a pine a few feet away from the edge of the road.

The Trail was narrow, with trees crowding in on either side, and Sam hesitated.

Dean needed him. Maybe he had found the monster. Maybe he was hurt.

Sam couldn't wait, couldn't waste anymore time.

Pressing his foot down on the gas, he inched the Impala onto the trail that was not designed for anything wider than a bicycle. Sam grimaced as branches as leaves smacked against the roof of the Chevy, scratched against its sides but told himself that it didn't matter, especially if Dean was in danger.

The Impala bumped over exposed roots and large stones, and Sam heard a strange grinding sound coming from beneath the car but ignored it.

_SREEEECCCHHH- THUNK_

Sam jumped a little in his seat and glanced out the front window. The trail was far too narrow and overgrown for him to continue down it with the car. He would have to keep going on foot.

Opening the driver's side door, Sam leaned out of the car.

"Dean!" he called, pausing to listen for a reply.

"DEAN!" he cried in a louder tone and again listened for a response.

There was none.

Shit, maybe his brother was seriously hurt.

Reaching into the Impala's backseat, Sam grabbed the shotgun loaded with silver buckshot and slipped out of the car.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam called again as he stepped around to the front of the car and headed down the trail, searching for any sign of his brother.

"DEAN!"

Almost as soon as the name out was of his mouth, Sam heard a cry come from down the trail ahead of him.

"Dean! Dean, where are you?" the younger Winchester called as he began to rush down the trail, stumbling over rocks and roots, gasping for air even from the mild exertion.

"SAM! Here!"

The hunter came around a bend in the trail and saw his brother sprawled out in the dirt, holding his arm to his chest.

"Dean! Are you okay? What happened?" Sam exclaimed and crouched down beside his sibling.

"I'm fine, Sammy, just a scratch, really," Dean insisted as the younger Winchester helped him stand.

"Did you get the Black Dog?" Sam asked and Dean nodded, "Better than it got me."

Once his brother was standing, Sam grabbed his brother's gun and began to lead the way back to the car.

"You should have let me come with you," Sam said as Dean followed behind him, "I could have helped you. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt if I'd-"

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean told him, "Besides, I wouldn't have been able to stand it, hearing you snorting and sniffling and hacking everywhere. It's bad enough in the car."

Sam lifted his arm to his nose as it began to drip and tried not to snort as he did so.

"Hey!" Dean cried out as the Impala came into view, "Sammy, what'd you do?"

"B-Brought you the car," Sam replied, "Like you said."

Dean scowled at him before running to the vehicle, eyeing the black paint for scratches.

"Jesus, Sam! You could have ruined the paint!" he snapped, "Why'd you bring it in here? Huh? Can't you use your head?"

Sam stared at his brother, hurt by his sibling's anger.

"Sorry," he muttered and made his way to the passenger's side of the car and climbed into the seat.

Once Dean was behind the wheel, he turned to Sam, "You're lucky she's not scratched or I'd have to kick your ass."

Sam looked away from his brother and grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment.

As Dean backed the Impala down the trail he didn't say anything and Sam didn't say anything either.

"Hey," Dean muttered once they had reached the main path and he'd pulled a U-turn, "Sorry, Sammy. Thanks for coming to get me."

Sam nodded but remained silent.

"Let's head back to the motel and then get something to eat," Dean suggested.

He reached out and turned on the stereo, smiling when the Allman Brothers' 'Midnight Rider' came on over the speakers, and turned the volume onto full blast.

Sam curled against the passenger's side door, shivering but glad they were going back to the motel. Maybe he could get some sleep before they went out for food.

Dean drove past the parking lot and pulled onto the main roadway- a two-lane highway- and began to head in the direction of the motel room, singing along loudly to 'Midnight Rider'.

The hiking trails were a few miles outside of town and bordering the highway were trees on either side of the asphalt; tall, dark pines that crowded next to the pavement.

"…But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no," Dean belted out happily, ignoring the pain in his arm from the Black Dog's claws, "…Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider!"

Neither Winchester noticed the check engine light come on, nor did he hear the incessant beeping that indicated a serious problem was imminent.

"…No, I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no," Dean now began to tap his hand on the steering wheel, pretending that his injured arm didn't hurt at all, "…Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider…"

Dean's singing slowly came to a stuttering stop as the Impala slowed down, spluttered and coasted along until the hunter could pull over onto the shoulder of the road.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered and peered at the gauges along the dashboard in confusion.

"Dean?" Sam looked up blearily, his voice thick with confusion.

"The car just stopped," Dean ground out and spied the check engine light blinking red, than black, red, than black, on the dash.

Sam's eyebrows knitted in confusion, mirroring his sibling's expression.

Dean opened the door and stepped out onto the side of the road, walking to the front of the Chevy and popped the hood.

Sam listened to his brother as he fiddled with the tubes and wires and nozzles that made up the guts of the car before Dean slammed the hood down and headed back towards the driver's side.

"Can you get the car started?" Sam asked.

"No," Dean growled as he fell into his seat. He pulled out his cell phone and began pressing numbers apparently randomly.

As it turned out, Dean was calling for the services of a tow truck, all the while glaring at Sam as though he had pulled the Impala's spark plugs out and thrown them in the woods or something.

"…You sure? Okay… sure… thanks," Dean muttered as he spoke to the towing service before ending the call.

"A truck should be here in half an hour to forty-five minutes," Dean told his brother.

"It'll take that long?" Sam asked before he grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment and wiped his nose.

"Yeah," Dean muttered.

The brothers were silent for a long time. The only sound was Sam's labored breathing.

"What's happened to the car?" the younger brother finally asked.

"We're leaking engine fuel," Dean explained and turned in his seat to point out the back of the car. Sam twisted around at the waist and saw a dark red trail of spots leading away from the car back towards the direction they had come from.

Sam's eyes widened in shock; how did that happen, he thought but then he quickly recalled his attempt at driving the Classic Chevy down Trail 3 towards his brother and all the thumping and scraping coming from beneath the car.

Suddenly Sam didn't feel so cold anymore. Instead, a film of sweat beaded his brow and upper lip. He shifted in his seat, turning to face the window.

"Sam? Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean said instantly, concerned for his brother.

"Nuh-Nothing, Dean," Sam muttered, "I'm fine."

"You sure? You look like you've just seen a ghost," Dean commented and sniggered.

Sam shook his head, "I'm fine."

The older Winchester remained silent for a moment before he spoke again.

"Sam?" he said slowly, "Do you know what happened to the car?"

"No," the younger brother answered quickly, too quickly and cringed, "No, I don't."

Again Dean lapsed into silence for a few moments then spoke again.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Sammy?"

Sam said nothing.

"Sammy? Look at me," Dean said and reached out to touch his brother's shoulder, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Cautiously the younger brother peered over his shoulder at his older sibling and took a deep breath, "I…uh… while I was coming to get you… and I was driving through the woods…"

"Yeah?" Dean pressed.

"I uh… well, I might have drove the car over… uhm, some rocks…or, or tree roots."

For a moment, Dean didn't say anything then he shouted, "Damn it, Sam! You busted a hole in the engine!"

Sam, because he was sick and not feeling well, cringed back from his brother's wrath.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I thought you were in danger."

Dean scowled at him, "Great, now we have to stick around and wait for the engine to get fixed, not to mention pay for something that we wouldn't have to if you had been thinking straight."

Sam tried to match his brother's expression, "I said I was sorry! I thought you were hurt, that you were dying!"

Dean stared at Sam for a few seconds. He was just so mad about the damage to the car that he hadn't thought about Sam's feelings.

"You… You thought I was dying?"

Sam nodded, his eyes red rimmed- but that could have been from his cold- and Dean let out a loud breath.

"Aw jeez," he muttered.

"You sounded bad on the phone," Sam told him, "And I didn't know… You could have been…"

Dean shook his head, "I'm sorry, Sammy. I should have told you I was okay. I shouldn't have freaked you out like that."

"Sorry about the car," Sam repeated his apology.

Dean waved it away, "Don't worry about it, Sammy. It was my fault for not telling you I wasn't hurt."

Sam bit his lip and nodded, turning away to stare out the window.

_W_

Sixty minutes later the Winchesters spied a rusty, old tow truck pull up behind the Impala.

"About time," Dean muttered as he stepped out of the car.

"How's your arm?" Sam asked, concerned that they had waited too long to get his brother medical treatment and the injury had become worse.

"Better now," Dean replied and walked over to the tow truck driver, a man wearing a grimy John Deere baseball cap, white t-shirt, blue jeans and boots. The man's face was deeply lined and he had a beard that made him look like a member of ZZ Top.

"Hey Sammy! Don't forget your wallet," Dean called, "You're paying for Baby's medical bill."

Sam, climbing from the Chevy's passenger seat sighed in exasperation but couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face.

**Author's Note: **

**This rule comes from Reannablue.**

**Thanks to Jenjoremy, BranchSuper, jensensgirl3, whimsicalbarwench, elliereynolds777, GuardianOfMusic27855, StyxxsOmega, AnitaRez, SamDeanLover28, reannablue, and CarverEdlundtheLast for reviewing. **

**Please take a moment to leave a review and/or a suggestion for a rule. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Rule 10: Batman can't fly**

"Dad said to stay here," Sam reminded his older brother as Dean eased open the cabin door and peered outside.

The fifteen-year old glanced over his shoulder at his younger sibling and made a disgusted noise, "Since when do you do what Dad tells you?"

Sam didn't even flinch at the jab.

"Dad told us to stay inside because he doesn't know what's going on, Dean," Sam explained his reason for obeying their father's stern order, "And its safer where we are."

"I won't go far," the fifteen-year old assured him, "I just need some fresh air."

The eleven-year old sat up on the worn, Navajo patterned couch and stared at his brother, biting his lip. Sam had to admit, he was tired of being cooped up inside all the time. The Winchesters had arrived at Camp Henrietta- advertised as a vacation destination for city folk- three days ago and as of yet, John hadn't been able to figure out what was causing entire families to vanish without a trace, leaving their luggage, and sometimes meals as though they intended to return in a few minutes.

Camp Henrietta was located a few miles outside of busy Chicago, surrounded by woods that were supposed to help suburbanites forget about the smog and skyscrapers of the city. Consisting of two-dozen cabins circling a manmade lake, with a large campground beyond that, Camp Henrietta was huge and really had more ground than John Winchester could cover in just a handful of days. As soon as they had arrived, Dean had begged John to go out with him as he searched for clues, a request the eldest Winchester had denied because Dean had to look after Sam instead. Besides, John didn't know what was going on and he didn't want to drag his sons into a situation even he wasn't completely sure of.

So, instead of taking his boys with him, John booked a cabin and forbade his sons from leaving it. The cabin was small and truly made for vacationers. It had a small wooden porch, with a couple of Muskoka chairs squeezed onto it. Inside, the cabin had a large main room which consisted of the Navajo-patterned couch, a bunny-eared television set that only played static, a tiny kitchenette featuring a bar fridge, a sink, and a stove and virtually no cupboards. At the back of the cabin was a small room with a set of bunk beds. The only other room was a tiny bathroom that was only big enough for one person at a time to use the facilities. John, whenever he returned from searching for clues and talking to witnesses, crashed on the couch in the cabin's main room, leaving the bunk beds for his sons.

"We won't be long," Dean spoke up, seeing that his brother really wanted to come with him, "We'll be back before Dad even knows we were gone."

"Promise?" Sam asked. He hated it when his Dad got mad and yelled at him, something that seemed to be happening more and more often lately.

"I promise," Dean said, keeping one hand behind his back so his younger brother wouldn't see he'd crossed his fingers.

"Okay," Sam replied and slid off the bed, walking across the wooden floor to the front door and grabbing his sneakers.

Stepping out onto the cabin's porch, Sam could see that it really was a beautiful day out; the sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky and there were even families enjoying the weather as though in defiance of the mysterious happenings occurring in the campground. As the eleven-year old slid into his shoes, he laughed at the sight of a teenager with longish blond hair running past in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks as he threw a Frisbee to a Dalmatian. The dog expertly caught the flying disk in its mouth and ran after the young man, its tail wagging happily.

"See Sammy, we're outside and we're not melting or anything," Dean said as he slumped for a moment into one of the Muskoka chairs, "And nothing is popping out of the trees to grab us. We're fine. Dad's just overreacting."

Sam's gaze took in the area in front of their cabin, a long grassy swath that led to a narrow bar of sand that bordered the manmade lake.

"Yeah," he muttered; it didn't seem like anything bad could happen to anyone on a wonderfully balmy July day like this, "Maybe you're right."

Dean snorted, "Of course I'm right. C'mon, lets go down to the lake."

Sam walked the short distance to the edge of the porch, before jumping off and calling back to Dean who was just climbing from the Muskoka chair, "I'll race you!"

The eleven-year old took off across the grass, running as fast as he could, hearing his brother's fleet footsteps just behind him.

As Sam reached the beach he let his knees go limp and he fell onto the sand, laughing. Dean landed beside him, equally breathless and cheerful.

His brother rolled over onto his stomach and raised himself up onto his elbows, gazing out at the dark blue water of the lake.

"Want to go for a swim?" Sam asked, digging the toes of his shoes into the warm sand.

Dean's gaze followed the path of a motorboat as it zoomed across the water before he answered.

"Want to check out the island?"

Sam looked up at the mound of grassy earth and towering pine trees situated in the middle of the lake.

"Sure," he said, "That'd be cool."

Dean stood and brushed sand off the front of his shirt and shorts.

He started off towards the dock where a menagerie of rowboats and motorboats sat.

Sam followed his brother onto the dock, walking carefully as it rocked from side-to-side slightly with water and approached one of the rowboats that could be rented out by anyone vacationing at Camp Henrietta- the motorboats were owned by families who brought them to the lake- and climbed into it. He gave a slight smile as Dean gazed longingly at one of the motorboats before he dropped into the rowboat and slipped the rope out of the hook that attached it to the dock.

Automatically, Dean grabbed the oars and began rowing towards the island.

"You get to do this on the way back," he grunted to Sam and the eleven-year old nodded, grinning.

_W_

"This is so neat," Sam said as he stared up at the tall trees crowding close to the edge of the island.

Dean stepped off the rowboat, stopped up against a sandbar and glanced around.

"There's no one here," he commented.

"Aw, look at that!" Dean pointed and ran around a bend in the island where it jutted out a bit more and stared at a small pontoon plane resting in the shallows.

"Guess we're not the only ones here," Sam said from over his brother's shoulder.

"C'mon Dean," he said, turning away from the plane, "Let's see what's in the forest."

Sam was glad his brother had persuaded him to get out of the cabin. Just being in the sunlight and fresh air was lifting his mood and making his brain feel less dull and slow. He found himself smiling more and laughing at Dean when he'd just scowled at him when they'd been stuck in the cabin.

"Hey, Sammy! Wait up!" Dean called from behind him and the eleven-year old heard his brother pounding up the narrow beach after him.

"Wonder what's in there?" Sam muttered, more to himself than to his brother and slipped through the treeline.

"Its probably where all the teenagers go to get drunk and make out," Dean told him and Sam grimaced, "Gross."

The fifteen-year old smirked, "You won't think it's so gross in a few years."

Sam just shook his head, rolling his eyes, slipping between two pine trees-

-And falling headfirst down a steep incline.

Sam didn't have time to cry out as he rolled and crashed down the embankment, hitting rocks and saplings on the way down. He heard his brother calling out his name overhead but Dean's voice sounded like it was coming a million miles away.

The eleven-year old landed in a green, nonflowering bush that had branches that ended in three leaves. Sam lay on the ground for a moment- what felt like a moment- dazed and sick.

"SAM! SAMMY!" Dean's voice kept calling him, coming closer and closer.

Slowly, the eleven-year old got to his hands and knees. He closed his eyes for a moment; he didn't feel as though he'd broken anything and staggered to his feet.

Sam brought a hand to his head and glanced up the slope where Dean was inching his way down.

"Sam! Are you okay?"

"I… I think so," he answered, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

He took a few cautious steps forward and when he felt no pain other than the dull throb of bruises, Sam continued towards his brother.

"Aw shit," he heard Dean mutter and he looked up, confused, thinking he'd been hurt worse than he believed.

"Come on out of there," the fifteen-year old said frantically and Sam felt adrenaline course through his bloodstream, thinking he was in danger.

"What is it?" he asked nervously as he struggled up the slope towards his brother. Dean, who normally would reach out to help him, seemed reluctant to touch him.

"I think that's poison ivy, Sammy," Dean told him.

The eleven-year old looked over his shoulder- a wave of nausea accompanying the motion- and stared at the bush he'd landed in, a large swath of its leaves crushed by his body weight.

"I feel okay," he insisted.

Dean glanced at him suspiciously but nodded, grim-faced.

"Let's go back across the lake," he said, "I want to check you out."

Sam nodded, though he didn't think he'd had anything worse than a few bumps and scrapes from his tumble down the embankment.

The slope was so steep in places that the eleven-year old almost had to climb up on his hands and knees in places, the position causing him to feel dizzy and lightheaded.

He was about halfway up the hill when he started feeling an uncomfortable itching sensation on his arms and legs where his skin was exposed, on the back of his neck and his face.

"D-Dean?"

The fifteen-year old looked back and Sam met his gaze.

"I don't feel so good," Sam closed his eyes and when he opened them again he saw that the skin on his arms was beginning to form a raised, bumpy red rash.

"Damn it," he heard Dean swear.

Sam lifted one hand to scratch at the irritation but Dean barked at him, "Don't! You'll make it worse!"

Sam nodded and lowered his hand.

"C'mon Sammy, we're almost at the top."

The eleven-year old began to climb again gritting his teeth in an effort to ignore the intense itching the rash caused.

Sam forced himself to keep his gaze on his brother, even when the itching on his skin intensified into a painful burning sensation strong enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at him every so often, his expression grim, looking as though he was starting to regret his suggestion to leave the cabin.

"D'n," Sam stammered as he reached the top of the embankment, Dean just ahead of him, and would have fallen backwards if his brother hadn't reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Ah!" Sam cried and flinched back from his brother's touch.

Looking down, he saw that the rash had turned into large, reddish-yellow blisters.

Dean instantly released him as soon as Sam was safely away from the edge of the embankment.

"C'mon, we'll get the boat and go back and…" the fifteen-year old's voice trailed off as he searched the narrow strip of beach for the rowboat.

"D'n?" Sam asked, pale beneath the rash.

"The boat," Dean muttered, "It was right here."

The older brother looked around the water and spotted the boat, floating merrily on the waves, yards away from the beach.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean apologized to his brother, "I messed up."

Sam gazed at his brother dully, the fall down the hill and the rash making his thinking slow.

Dean bit his lip, wondering how he could get his brother across the lake to the cabin where he could give him First Aid.

Suddenly, the fifteen-year old remembered the pontoon plane he'd seen. Hurrying around the bend in the island, Dean saw that the plane was still sitting on the sand.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged, "C'mon."

He returned to where his brother was approaching slowly and grabbed the front of Sam's t-shirt, tugging him the rest of the way.

"D'n," Sam muttered, "Don't feel good."

Dean nodded, "We'll be back at the cabin soon."

The elder Winchester approached the plane and stepped up onto its pontoon on the left side, grabbing the handle of its door and pulling. It opened after he gave a strong tug.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean laid a gentle hand on his brother's back to help him up, "In you go."

Sam slid over to the co-pilot's seat and stared out the window.

"Can you fly?" the eleven-year old asked.

Dean climbed into the pilot's seat and slammed the door shut, glancing uncertainly at the strange controls on the dashboard before him.

"Of course I can," Dean told his brother in a confident tone, "I'm Batman."

Sam gave a wan smile and closed his eyes.

"Okay," Dean muttered, "Think, Dean, think."

There was a large red button in the middle of the dash that looked promising. The fifteen-year old pressed down and heard the growl of the large engine start up.

Grinning, Dean peered out of the windshield at the single propeller on the nose of the plane.

"Okay," he muttered, "How about this."

He jabbed at a large green button and the propeller began to whirr, moving faster and faster and faster.

Dean couldn't help but grin at his brother, excited that he was actually able to start the plane in the first place.

Realizing that he needed to turn the plane around to face the campground, Dean put both hands on a control that looked like a steering wheel with the top and bottom half cut away. He slowly eased the wheel to the right and marveled as the plane began to turn in that direction, the pontoons splashing in the water and grinding against the sand.

As Dean watched in the windshield, the far side of the lake- the cabins and dock- slowly came into view and the fifteen-year old let out a whoop of excitement.

"Okay, Sammy," he spoke to his brother, "Let's go!"

Reaching out, Dean pulled on the steering wheel and the plane began to move forward, its pontoons just touching the water.

Dean grinned wildly as the plane shot across the water as though it was nothing. He pulled on the steering wheel even more and the nose of the plane began to lift up, the vehicle struggling to take to the air.

The fifteen-year old felt high on the adrenaline coursing through his body and in his excitement failed to notice just how fast the plane was going. Dean came to his senses just in time to realize the plane was about to run aground.

"Shit!" the fifteen-year old swore and pressed down on the steering wheel, jabbing the green button and red button with the heel of one of his hands to stop the engine and propellers.

Through the windshield Dean saw vacationers running away from the beach, screaming as though a shark was swimming towards them from the lake.

"Get out of the way!" the teen shouted, praying that he didn't hit anyone as he struggled to stop the plane.

He was jolted in his seat as the plane hit the grass and he heard his brother give a groan of pain beside him. The propellers were slowing down now, the engine silent and the scrape of pontoons against grass filled Dean's ears.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut when he realized that he was still coming on too quickly and could hit one of the cabins.

He braced himself for the impact.

There was one, but not that he expected. With a screech of metal on wood, the plane jarred to a halt, its propellers stopping abruptly as an obstacle impeded their slow spin.

The fifteen-year old opened his eyes and stared.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked quietly.

"Hmm," was the reply. At least Sam had answered him.

"Let's get out of here before anyone sees us," Dean commented and shoved his door open.

He stepped out and stood on the pontoon, waiting for his brother to follow him. He glanced behind himself, at the twin gouges the plane's pontoons had made in the sand on the beach and the grass, tearing up the turf.

After helping his brother down, Dean approached the front of the plane. He saw what had stopped the craft so effectively- it was a picnic table. It's wood cracked and splintered by the force of the collision, it had stopped the plane from continuing on to possibly damage one of the cabins however.

Quickly, keeping as low as possible, Dean hurried towards the cabin he and his family were staying in, his brother in tow.

He hoped that no one had seen them leave the scene and that it would be chalked up to some freak accident.

Dean relaxed once he and Sam were safely inside the cabin. Now he could focus on what he did best: take care of his baby brother.

_W_

Sam, covered in calamine lotion and swaddled in blankets, peered up at his brother sleepily.

"Dean," he said and his brother peered at him, "Yeah, Sammy."

"You're wrong," the eleven-year old said, a wry smile on his lips, "Batman can't fly."

Dean chuckled and shook his head; just happy to see his brother was starting to feel like himself again.

**Author's Note:**

**Rule comes from Reannablue. **

**Thanks to whimsicalbarwench, Jenjoremy, CarverEdlundtheLast, jo1966, jensensgirl3, Katlover98, GuardianOfMusic27855, reannablue, SamDeanLover28, StyxxsOmega, AnitaRez, and BranchSuper for reviewing.**

**I don't have any idea how to fly a plane, though I have been in a small, single-engine one like the one Dean flies- though it didn't have pontoons- I am using my imagination for the plane's controls in the story and apologize for the mistakes.**

**Please take a moment to leave a review or a rule for hunting if you have one.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Rule 11: No matter what big brother says, never just stand there and watch him fight the monster alone.**

**Set after Season 2, Episode 4 (Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things)**

"Dean," Sam said as his brother packed the Impala, "I am not comfortable with this."

"Neither am I, Sammy," the older brother replied humourlessly.

"You know what I mean," the younger hunter complained, "I don't like you going after this thing by yourself."

"I won't be by myself," Dean argued, "You'll be with me."

Sam scowled, "Yeah, watching."

"No, Sam, that's where you're wrong," his brother replied, "You're not just _watching_, you're watching my back."

The older Winchester slammed the Impala's trunk shut and began walking around to the driver's side.

"Dean," Sam said as he went to the passenger's side, speaking to his brother from over the classic Chevy, "I really think I should do this. Remember the last time we killed a Rawhead?"

Dean grimaced and opened the door, climbing into the car, "Yeah, Sammy, I remember. But what are you going to do? You basically have only one arm right now."

Sam, sitting down in the passenger's seat, sighed, "I just don't feel good about this. I wish you'd let me take the risks this time."

"Well," Dean said as he turned the key in the engine and the Impala roared to life, "That's what you get for breaking your wrist."

"What's that?" Sam muttered sourly.

"Benched," Dean replied and turned on the stereo, classic rock music blaring from the speakers.

_W_

Sam followed Dean into the abandoned recreation center, the scent of chlorine and mold strong in the dilapidated building.

Although the center had long been left to rot, its windows boarded up, sunlight shone weakly through the cracks in the plywood, allowing the Winchesters a dim view of the interior.

Both hunters moved as quietly as possible, muscles coiled to spring at a moments notice. Rawheads, though not necessarily dangerous to adults as their favourite food was children, could still be a threat to an unwary hunter because their sharp teeth and claws could slice through their flesh just as readily as that of a kid's.

"Do you smell that?" Dean asked, wrinkling his nose.

Sam stopped and sniffed the air, trying to discern what his brother was smelling over the pungent aroma of mold and tang of old chlorine. Then, there it was, faint, but most definitely there, the sweet, earthy tones of rotting meat.

The younger Winchester looked at his sibling for a moment and Dean slipped past him, taking the lead, moving towards the area of the rec center where the pool was.

Dean reached out and pushed the door to the change rooms open, stepping inside and pulling a penlight from his pocket. Sam followed close behind him, his heartbeat beginning to pick up.

As they moved past the lockers and showers, the older Winchester paused and smirked.

"Hey, Sammy, I've never been in the women's' change room before."

The younger hunter rolled his eyes but said nothing.

Dean clicked off the penlight in his hand, pulling out a Taser instead, as the approached the open doorway that led to the pool itself.

The brothers stopped just inside the doorway, hidden by shadows, and peered across the pool area, searching for their quarry.

Sam, by virtue of his height, spied the Rawhead first. Crouched in the bottom of the empty pool, it appeared to be chewing on the femur bone of one of its young victims. The hunter felt nauseous just watching the monster. Tall, though not as tall as Sam, the Rawhead had long, stringy blond hair, deathly pale skin streaked with grime, and, if it looked up, the hunter would be able to see its near-white eyes. Its teeth were sharp, its hands and feet ending in claws instead of nails, it seemed like an almost perfect predator.

Without waiting for Dean to make his move, Sam slipped out of the doorway and walked quickly but casually along the edge of the pool, eyes pinned to the monster crouched below him.

"Sam!" he heard his brother hiss but the young man ignored him. He knew what he was doing.

"Hey asshole!" Sam shouted. The Rawhead's face lifted instantly, pale eyes going to him right away, "Why don't you try eating someone your own size?"

The creature let out an inhuman snarl of anger and began scrabbling towards him.

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean dash out from the doorway and jump down into the bottom of the pool with the Rawhead.

There was a thin film of scummy water on the bottom of the pool, which was exactly what the hunter needed to kill the monster.

Sam felt his heart leap into his throat as Dean ran right up behind the Rawhead and began to lower the Taser in his hand. Pressing his thumb down on the button, the device crackled to life, a single line of lightning racing from prong to prong.

Dean was just a bit too slow and the Rawhead turned face the older hunter, growling with rage. Lifting a hand, the creature backhanded Dean and the hunter went sprawling, the Taser flying out of his hand to hit the side of the pool and land in the brackish water, useless.

Now no longer interested in Sam, the Rawhead, growling and slavering, turned to Dean who was disoriented from the blow and slowly picking himself up off the bottom of the pool.

"Shit," Sam muttered and ran around the side of the pool, eyes pinned to the Taser.

Jumping down into the pool, Sam was running towards the weapon before he could even gather his bearing, staggering forward but managing to snag the Taser as he did so. Moving forward, he placed himself between his brother and the Rawhead, pressing the button on the device and bringing it to life again.

"Get out of the pool, Dean," Sam said calmly, not taking his eyes off the monster in front of him.

The Rawhead watched as the elder Winchester backed away, making his way to the ladder on the far side of the pool and using it to climb out.

"You move and I'll fry us both," Sam warned, having no idea if the Rawhead understood at all.

"You can quit being a hero now, Sammy," Dean's voice called to him from the edge of the pool and the younger brother began to back away, gaze focused on the Rawhead, thumb cramping from pressing the Taser's ON button so hard.

_SPN_

"C'mon, c'mon, get out of there," Dean muttered to himself as he watched his brother back away from the Rawhead with agonizing slowness.

Always prepared, Dean hadn't brought just one Taser, but two, the second one he had hidden in his jacket pocket, this one the kind that fired its electrocuting projectiles instead of having to be pressed up against the object one wanted to incapacitate. Now Dean held it out, pointed at the Rawhead but he hesitated to press the trigger; if Sam were still standing in the water at the bottom of the pool when the monster was shocked, he'd be barbequed as well.

Without warning, the Rawhead in question, perhaps seeing Sam's retreat as a sign of weakness, rushed forward and leaped on the younger hunter, bringing him to the ground.

"SAM!" Dean shouted his brother's name as the Rawhead onto of his sibling suddenly began to seize uncontrollably, its growl now turning to a scream of pain.

"SAMMY!" the older brother called out again as smoke began to rise from the monster and it suddenly stopped screaming and flailing around, collapsing on top of the hunter.

"Fuck," Dean swore and hurried to the edge of the pool and jumping in, "Sam! Sammy! Are you okay?"

For a moment there was no reply and then a small voice choked out.

"Get it off me."

The older Winchester broke out into a grin and rushed to his brother's aide, shoving the smoking carcass away from him and pulling him up.

"You hurt?" Dean asked, giving his brother a visual once-over.

Sam shook his head and couldn't help but smile.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked as he pulled the Taser out of his sibling's hand and turned him around so they could use the ladder to exit the pool.

"And you just wanted me to stand by and watch."

The older Winchester scowled at his brother and watched as Sam climbed up the ladder. Dean sighed and let himself smile too.

"Hey, Sammy," he called as he started climbing up as well.

"Yeah?" the younger hunter replied, frowning at the feeling of cold, dirty water all down his back.

"Thanks for not listening to me."

**Author's Note:**

**Rule comes from HunterChic1807.**

**Thanks to reannablue, elliereynolds777, StyxxsOmega, Jenjoremy, SamDeanLover28, BranchSuper, jo1966, TheFantasticLadyMax, and Slytherin Studios for reviewing. **

**I apologize for the **_**insanely **_**long wait. I had major writer's block on this 'rule' and simply could not figure out what to write about. **

**A big thanks to mandancie for helping me with this chapter- if not for her, I'd still be scratching my head, wondering just what to write for it.**

**Please take a moment to leave a review and I'll try not to make the wait for the next rule so long. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Rule 12: Never go on a hunt without cleaning and oiling the guns.**

"Hey, Sam! Hello! Is anybody in there?" Dean reached out and rapped his knuckles against his brother's head.

"Hey!" Sam flinched away, glaring at him.

"What?" he snapped at his older brother.

"I said it's your turn to clean the guns," Dean repeated for the third time, "I'm going out for a while. Don't wait up for me."

"Fine," Sam muttered, turning his gaze back to his laptop.

"Did you hear me?"

"Jesus! Dean! Yes, I heard you!" Sam snapped.

"What are you even doing on that thing?" Dean asked and leaned over, "Solitaire? You're playing Solitaire?"

"Would you leave me alone?" Sam asked, exasperated.

"Are you all right?" the older Winchester asked, now not so angry.

"Yeah, just go away," Sam muttered, "Go out."

Dean opened his mouth to speak again but then closed it and headed toward the motel room door. Sighing, he grabbed the Impala's keys and slipped out.

Dean knew he shouldn't give his brother such a hard time, he'd just seen his girlfriend get roasted on the ceiling of their apartment for Christ's sake, but it pissed him off to have to repeat something a half-dozen times before Sam answered him.

Whatever, Dean thought, maybe some time alone would help his brother cope or something. Since Sam didn't want to talk about his girlfriend, what was Dean supposed to do? Put a gun to his head and force him?

Unlocking the driver's side door of the Impala, Dean climbed into the classic Chevy and turned on the stereo, grimacing as Pearl Jam's 'Last Kiss' came on and decided he didn't want to listen to any music after all.

_SPN_

Sam sighed heavily as soon as Dean left the room, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

Closing his laptop, the younger Winchester picked up the remote and turned on the television, and began to flip through the channels without any real purpose.

The minutes dragged on, not that Sam noticed, and then an hour had passed, and then another hour and another.

_SPN_

Dean opened the door to the motel early in the morning, when the sky was still dark, and frowned at the fact that the lights were still on, the TV still playing.

Glancing to the left, he saw his brother sprawled out on his bed, eyes closed, the television remote held in one limp hand.

Smiling, glad that his brother was getting some sleep; Dean closed the door and locked it before making his way towards Sam's bed. Taking the TV remote from his brother's hand, Dean turned off the television and then the light, pulling his boots and coat off in the dark. Moving silently to his own bed, the hunter laid down, sighing before closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

_W_

Groggily, Dean woke to find Sam sitting up in his own bed, typing away at his laptop.

"Ugh, what time is it?" the older brother groaned as he raised himself up on his forearms, squinting in the bright sunlight shining through the open curtains framing the smeary window.

"Seven forty-five," Sam replied without looking away from his computer.

Dean groaned again and dropped his head back onto his pillow for a moment. After a minute or two the hunter roused himself, climbing from his bed and grabbing his duffel bag, looking forward to a shower.

_SPN_

Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell of the Egg McMuffin Dean was scarfing down as they drove towards the Alvin D. Carter wilderness park, where a Black Dog had taken up residence, terrorizing hikers and tearing unlucky campers to shreds. As per usual, the local law enforcement and forest services deemed the attacks as a cougar or coyote or even possibly a small black bear. Dean and Sam though, had examined the victims- what was left of them at least- and knew without a doubt what they were dealing with.

Since they had hunted Black Dogs in the past, the brothers were confident they would be able to kill the monster quickly and then leave, continuing the search for their missing father.

Sam peered out the passenger side window as Dean steered the Impala with one hand, the other wrapped around his artery-clogging breakfast. There was a nagging thought at the back of his mind, as though he had forgotten something but for the life of him, Sam couldn't figure out what it was.

It was probably nothing. He hadn't been feeling himself since Jessica had died and the strange idea that he was missing something was only another symptom.

_SPN_

Dean crumpled the yellow paper from his McMuffin into a small ball and tossed into the backseat of the Impala to be cleaned up later.

From the corner of his eye he glanced at his brother. Sam wasn't taking care of himself and that worried him.

His sibling wasn't sleeping enough, not performing personal hygiene- Sam hadn't showered in three days- which was sending up large red flags because Dean knew his brother, as well as being a 'neat freak', was also a 'clean freak'. Sam had also refused breakfast this morning, claiming he wasn't hungry as he waited for Dean to place his order in the town's tiny McDonald's restaurant before heading out to the wilderness park.

Dean decided he wasn't going to wait and see if his brother snapped out of his funk any longer. He needed to say something, do something, whether Sam wanted to hear it or not. He couldn't go on like this; if he did he was bound to make himself ill.

But after this job was done, Dean told himself with finality; after this Black Dog is dust, I'll deal with Sammy.

_W_

As a result of the attacks, the park was off limits to visitors until the creature responsible was found and captured, or killed. So, instead of pulling up to the public parking area, the Winchesters found the employees' parking lot and pulled the Impala into a space.

Exiting the vehicle, Dean noticed each of the cars had a placard in the windshield, identifying them as belonging to forest services workers. The hunter shrugged; if they were ticketed they wouldn't be around long enough to pay the fine. If they were towed, they knew how to hotwire a car to take them to where they needed to be to get the Impala back.

Walking around to the back of the Chevy, Dean opened the trunk and unzipped the weapons duffel, pulling out a couple of rifles, which Sam had loaded with silver bullets the night before. Handing one gun to his brother and keeping the other for himself, Dean closed the trunk and peered at the thick wall of birch, maple, and alder in front of them.

"Let's get this over with," he commented and slung the gun over his shoulder, stepping into the woods with his brother right behind him.

_W_

"What time is it?" Dean asked his brother as he paused and leaned against a tree trunk.

"Ten twenty-two," Sam replied, glancing at his watch.

Dean sighed, scowling.

"Damn, where is this thing?"

Sam shrugged, looking as lost as Dean felt.

Normally Black Dogs hunted their prey at night, when their dark fur blended in with the shadows and gave them an edge when sneaking up on victims. This one in particular, was hunting hikers and campers in broad daylight- or daylight diffused by branches and leaves- which was troubling behaviour though neither brother said so out loud.

"Maybe we have to walk deeper into the forest," Sam suggested before peering down at the leaf litter at his feet, "And maybe find a trail. So the Black Dog thinks we're real hikers, you know?"

Dean sneered, "It's a Black Dog, Sam. It doesn't _think._"

Sam just shrugged and continued onward.

The older brother sighed and followed his sibling.

_SPN_

"Damn it!" Dean swore loudly, scaring a flock of birds out of the trees, "We've been walking all friggin' day and still nothing!"

The hunter was in a foul mood. His feet were sore, his legs were tired and he was hungry. Dean didn't want to admit it but he was afraid that maybe they had been wrong and that this wasn't a Black Dog they were hunting after all. Maybe it really was just a cougar or coyote.

Sam looked at a loss for words.

"Let's start heading back," Dean grumbled, "Get something to eat and then come back when it's dark. Maybe than this thing will show itself."

Sam said nothing but followed his sibling as Dean began stomping through the trees the way they had come.

_SPN_

Dean had rarely felt so frustrated. A Black Dog hunt was supposed to be easy, a run-of-the-mill kind of deal. But now it seemed as though they were just looking for a needle in a haystack, a needle that may or may not even be there.

Although Sam didn't say it, Dean knew he felt the same. Maybe they had been wrong about this one. It wouldn't be the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last but the bitch of it was the fact that they had spent the entire day traipsing through some random forest when they could have been searching for their Dad.

The sky was growing dark now that the sun was setting, no longer a bright, clear blue but a deep violet colour. Shadows had begun to darken and lengthen, making walking more treacherous with hidden roots and rocks. The elder Winchester was silently kicking himself for not thinking to bring any flashlights. All they had were the lights on their cell phones. Dean didn't think they'd make it to the Impala before night fell.

"Hey, Sammy-" Dean began to tell his brother they should pick up the pace when a shadow dethatched from its surroundings and pounced on his sibling.

Sam, unprepared for the assault, lost his footing and staggered to one side, slamming into the side of a large oak tree as the weight of the Black Dog bore down on him.

"SAMMY!" Dean shouted as his sibling struggled to push the monster off his chest. The Black Dog had a mouthful of his jacket in its jaws and its sharp-clawed toes scratched against his abdomen cruelly.

Sliding his rifle off his shoulder, Dean allowed his training to take over, and, working basically on autopilot, fired a single shot at the Black Dog.

There was no response. The gun would not fire but issued a dull click.

Dean stared at the weapon for a moment, dumbfounded.

"DEAN!" Sam cried out as he lost his footing in the soft loam at the base of the oak tree and fell onto his back, the Black Dog taking advantage of his prone position to release its hold on his jacket to snap at his face.

"DEAN!"

Dean raised the gun again and tried to fire a second shot.

_Click._

Now that it was obvious that the rifle wasn't going to work, Dean began to panic.

Sam had his arm raised to protect his face, the Black Dog's jaws clamped tightly to the limb, shredding his jacket and drawing blood.

"D'n," Sam said, quickly losing energy as his arm lowered a half an inch toward his face, brining the Black Dog's slavering jaws closer to that vulnerable flesh.

Think! Dean demanded of himself, frantically.

The coppery tang of blood was in the air and Dean knew he didn't have much time to decide on a plan of action. Sam couldn't hold the Black Dog off for much longer.

The elder Winchester's hands tightened around the gun and suddenly he knew what to do. Moving his grip down to the barrel of the rifle, he raised the butt of the gun up like a baseball bat and took the three or so feet to his brother at a run.

Despite the darkness, he could see his brother's pale face peering out from underneath the large dark mass that was the Black Dog. Winding up, as though about to hit a home run, Dean brought the butt of the rifle down on the back of the Black Dog's head.

The monster released its hold on Sam's arm and screamed a high-pitched shriek that made the blood in both hunters go cold. Not satisfied, Dean cracked it across the head again, and again, and again, not even caring if he hit his brother in the process he was too full of adrenaline and fear and anger to be worried about that triviality.

"Dean!"

"DEAN!"

"DEAN! STOP!"

Sam's breathless cries brought the older hunter back to reality and he dropped the gun.

"Sam? Sammy, shit! Sammy are you okay?" Dean dropped to his knees beside his fallen sibling, shoving the heavy body of the Black Dog off his brother's chest, its head a sticky mess of fur, brains and bone.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, which was stupid, he'd seem Sam's arm being used as a chew toy, so he added, "Did I hit you?"

Sam shook his head and Dean reached out to help him sit up. It was almost completely dark out now so the older brother grabbed his phone from his pocket and used the Flashlight on it to illuminate his sibling.

Sam's face was pale and had small scratches across his cheeks and chin, pinprick of blood seeping from them; his right arm was covered in the torn remains of his jacket, blood dripping steadily from the wounded appendage. His shirt was in tatters, the Black Dog's claws having dug out deep gouges in his chest and abdomen.

"I'll live," Sam ground out, "Help me up."

Reaching out to take his brother's uninjured arm, Dean pulled his brother to his feet.

Sam swayed for a moment but than gained his balance. His eyes had a bit of a glassy look but Dean wasn't too worried. He was sure they'd be able to make it to the car before his sibling passed out, if that was what he was going to do.

With one hand on his brother's arm, he reached down and picked up his rifle and Sam's.

"Why didn't they work?" the younger man asked, his words slurring slightly.

Maybe Sam had hit his head when he'd slammed into the tree, Dean wondered.

"I don't know," he answered, "You cleaned and oiled them last, you tell me."

Sam blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and than a look of realization momentarily took away the glassiness from his gaze.

"Sam? What is it?" Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat because maybe his brother was hurt worse than he'd thought.

"What's wrong?" he repeated.

"I…" Sam hesitated and licked his lips, drawing his injured right arm protectively to his chest, "I… didn't, Dean. I forgot to clean the guns last night."

The first thing Dean felt was anger. He had explicitly told Sam to clean and oil the guns and Sam had agreed to do it. But then Dean looked at his brother's face, really looked at it, seeing the pale skin, purple circles beneath watery eyes, the tightness of the muscles that told him his sibling was in pain.

Letting out a long breath, Dean released his anger.

"It's okay, these things happen," he assured his brother, "Let's just worry about getting you patched up."

Sam stared at Dean with a look of disbelief; clearly he had been prepared to have his head bitten off.

"Oh… Okay," the younger brother muttered and allowed Dean to guide him across the hidden obstacles on the forest floor.

Dean said no more about the rifles. He knew he could, he knew he should lecture Sam on how dangerous and irresponsible he had been, just like their father would have done had he been with them, but decided that almost getting mauled to death by a Black Dog was enough.

He was certain Sam would never forget to clean the guns again.

And Dean reminded himself not to be so hard on his brother.

**Author's Note:**

**I do not have the name of the person who gave me this prompt. If it's yours, please let me know so I can give you credit.**

**Thanks to elliereynolds777, jo1966, jensensgirl3, GuardianOfMusic27855, BranchSuper, and SamDeanLover28, and Melon-Lord-Of-Fire for reviewing.**

**I apologize for the long wait. Life has just been crazy, with school and then having a case of Writer's Block didn't help with any of my stories. I will try and post the next installment as soon as possible.**

**Please be kind, review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Rule Number 13: Never leave the Impala unlocked while going on a hunt**

The vampire's head came away from its shoulders with wet _schick _sound as Dean's machete tore through muscle, bone and ligaments like they were made of butter.

"Sammy!" the hunter called to his sibling, unable to see the younger man but needing to make sure he was all right.

"Here!" his brother's voice cried a reply from deep inside the old farmhouse.

Dean grinned toothily and continued to slice and dice his way through the nest of bloodsuckers, adrenaline pumping through his veins and his heart pounding in response.

_W_

Heaving a deep breath, the hunter wiped his arm across his forehead and looked at the carnage he and his brother had wrought.

"Man, that was a workout," Dean muttered as he took in the bloodstained floor and walls, the decapitated corpses strewn around the farmhouse like props in a horror movie.

Sam nodded, his expression grim, sweat and blood dripping from his long hair.

"That's all of 'em?" Dean asked his sibling, stepping over a head no longer attached to a body.

"I think so," Sam replied and raked his bangs back from his brow with one hand, "It was a big nest."

Dean made a sound of agreement.

"Biggest I've ever seen," he added.

"Let's torch the place and then get out of here," Dean announced, "There's a long, hot shower back at the motel calling my name."

Exiting the farmhouse- careful to avoid slipping in the blood and stepping on the bodies- the brothers stepped out onto the wooden porch where they had left a can of gasoline waiting. Handing Sam his machete, Dean fished in his pocket for a book of matches.

As he waited for his sibling, Sam frowned and peered out at the field surrounding the farm. The crop, so yellowed and dry it was impossible to tell what it was, lay flat and brittle against the ground. The sky overhead grey with clouds, promising rain that would do nothing to quench the thirsty, forgotten crops.

Quickly, Dean splashed gasoline through the open doorway of the farm and onto the porch. Once that was finished, he and Sam stepped down onto the front lawn and he pulled a match from the pack, struck it and tossed it onto the porch.

Within seconds the old wood was burning, the flames traveling quickly to the interior of the building.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean took his brother's machete and held his brother's arm, guiding him down the dirt driveway to where the Impala was parked.

Sam opened his door and climbed into the passenger's seat while Dean tossed the machetes and can of gas into the trunk, slamming the lid before walking around to the front of the vehicle and climbing into the driver's seat.

Key in the ignition, Dean pulled out of the driveway, glancing in the rearview mirror to see the farmhouse now a ball of orange fire and smiled.

Sam leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

"Hey Sam," Dean spoke up, "Why don't you take first shower?"

The younger man didn't argue, "Okay, Dean. Thanks."

"No problem," Dean brushed off his act of generosity as though it was something he always did, "Maybe when we're done cleaning up we can get something for din-"

The elder Winchester's words were suddenly cut off when a figure rose up from the backseat of the Impala, its hands grabbing onto his sibling.

Sam let out a strangled cry as he felt strong hands claw at him, one racking its nails across his throat before finding purchase on his shoulder while the other twined its long fingers into his hair.

"SAM!" Dean shouted and slammed on the breaks, forcing the Impala to stop suddenly.

The vampire was thrown forward against the back of Sam's seat but she did not release her hold on the hunter, if anything, the jolt allowed her to tighten her grip.

Sam's eyes were wide and panicked, his hands grabbing at the vampire's fingers clamped onto his shoulder, trying to pry her away.

"Hey bitch!" Dean snarled and for a moment the vampire turned to face the older hunter.

It was a mistake she'd live to regret.

Dean slammed his fist into her nose, breaking it on contact and forcing her backwards. The vampire lost her grip on Sam's shoulder and slumped forward, barely conscious.

Well aware he didn't have much time, the elder Winchester shoved open his door and dashed around the front of the idling Impala to his brother's side, opening not Sam's door, but the rear passenger side door.

Grabbing the vampire roughly by both arms, Dean dragged her from the Impala, pausing only briefly to yank at her hand where her fingers were tangled in his brother's hair and puling out a good chunk of chestnut locks as he did so.

Sam, now freed from the vampire's grip, pushed his door open and staggered out of the car, one hand pressed against his bleeding neck.

"Make sure she doesn't get up," Dean instructed and unceremoniously dumped the vampire on the ground beside the car before grabbing his keys from the ignition and unlocking the trunk.

Sam watched as the vampire began to rouse, rising up on her hands and knees, eyes locked on his.

"Dean, hurry up!" he called as the vampire attempted to stand up.

Before the monster could attack the younger Winchester for a second time, her head was detached from her body, rolling across the dust ground to bump against Sam's boots.

"Shit," Dean growled.

"Yeah," Sam muttered.

Dean lifted his gaze to his brother's face and fear suddenly coursed icily through his body.

"She didn't bite you, did she?"

Sam shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Let me see," Dean said and stepped over the vampire's body, pulling his brother's hand away from his throat so he could assess the damage.

"Nah, just clawed you," the older brother confirmed and smiled, "We'll have to put iodine on that when we get back."

Sam wiped his bloodied hand on his blood-streaked shirt, "Good idea."

Tossing the machete back into the trunk, Dean once again closed the lid before settling into position in the driver's seat. Sam took a moment to peer into the backseat before closing the rear door.

"You coming, Sammy?"

"Yeah," the younger sibling replied and sat down beside his brother, slamming the door shut.

As Dean started the engine, eager to be off, Sam spoke.

"How did she get in?"

Dean paused, his hand still on his keys and suddenly turned an alarming shade of red.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Sam asked, concern in his voice.

"Uh…Yeah, Sammy," he coughed, "I'm fine."

The younger hunter eyed his brother suspiciously.

"I didn't lock the car," Dean admitted, "I thought it would give us a faster getaway if I didn't."

Sam said nothing for a moment.

"I didn't even think anyone would slip past us," Dean continued, "This has never happened before."

"I guess there's a first for everything," Sam muttered humorlessly.

"Next time I'll lock the car," Dean assured his brother.

"Next time you'll lock the car," Sam agreed, sighing and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of his seat.

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks to mckydstarlight, jensensgirl3, whimsicalbarwench, reannablue, elliereynolds777, need2no, Jenjoremy, BranchSuper, and SamDeanLover28 for reviewing.**

**Please leave a review and a 'rule' if you have one! Much appreciated!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Rule 14: Never go hunting while drunk**

"Dean, are you sure you'll be okay?" Sam asked for the seventh time, irritating his sibling.

"I'm fine, Sammy," the older hunter growled, slurring his words slightly.

"I can do this on my own," the younger sibling suggested.

"No way!" Dean exclaimed loudly, "Knowing you, you'd probably get into… into trouble and need me to bail you out."

Sam frowned, watching the road winding ahead of them nervously.

"Like always," Dean added with a smug grin.

The younger sibling decided to let that one go. Dean wouldn't remember saying it in the morning anyway. If they made it to morning.

"I really wish you'd stayed at the motel," Sam muttered as Dean pulled the Impala into the cemetery, nearly scraping the right side of the vehicle against the wrought-iron gate as he did so.

"Oh come on, Sam! I only had a couple of beers, I'm fine," Dean insisted as the Impala bumped over something, probably a gravestone.

The elder Winchester put on the brakes and pulled the key from the ignition.

"Let's go roast this ghost," he said and then laughed at the rhyme.

Sam rolled his eyes and climbed out of the vehicle, "Let's just get this over with before you get us killed."

Walking to the back of the car, Dean unlocked the trunk but before he could reach inside, Sam had already grabbed the shotguns.

"You grab the salt and gas," he told Dean.

The older man pouted, "I need a gun."

Sam smiled, "Not until you've sobered up."

"I am sober," Dean insisted and grabbed a gun from his brother.

"Fine," Sam sighed, "Just point it at the ground so you don't shoot yourself by accident."

"I know how to hold a gun, Sam," Dean snapped, "I'm not stup-"

_ BANG_!

The loud blast startled both Winchesters, both men freezing for a split second before the younger of the two reacted.

Sam's face transformed into a mask of pain and he let out a strangled cry, lifting his left foot from the ground, blood dripping from the injured appendage.

Dean's face turned white as he stared down at the damage he'd inflicted. His brother's boot was torn to shreds, blood, gunpowder and salt residue coating what remained.

"Sam!" he shouted, reaching out to steady his sibling, "Sammy! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

The younger hunter narrowed his eyes, saying nothing.

"We'll go to the hospital," Dean told his brother, almost yelling, trying not to panic.

Even though the shotguns had been filled with rock salt and not buckshot, they could still seriously injure the living if fired at close range.

Dean, rapidly sobering, wrapped one arm around his brother's shoulders and helped Sam hobble back to the Impala, flung open the passenger's side door and eased his sibling into the seat as gently as possible.

Bending down, the older Winchester carefully picked up his brother's ankle and brought Sam's foot up to rest on the dashboard in an attempt to keep the limb above his heart.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean murmured as he closed the door, grabbed the guns, can of gas and salt, dumped them all back into the trunk and hurried to the front of the vehicle.

Dropping down into the driver's seat, Dean turned the key in the Impala's ignition so quickly he nearly stalled the engine.

Glancing at his brother, he didn't like how pale and quiet his brother was. He could hear the steady drip, drip, drip of blood falling onto the mat on the floor.

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean said, "We'll get you fixed up."

The eldest Winchester pulled a U-turn and sped out of the cemetery, promising that he would never, ever go hunting after drinking again.

**Author's Note:**

**Prompt comes from AnitaRez and LeeMarieJack who both had the same idea.**

**Thanks to StyxxsOmega, angelslaugh, elliereynolds777, mckydstarlight, and reannablue for reviewing.**

**Please take a moment to leave a review and a 'rule' if you can think of one!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Rule 15: Don't hunt if you're allergic to what you're hunting**

"So you're saying you have a… um… double homicide on your hands, Sheriff?" Dean asked as he and Sam, posing as FBI, met with the sheriff of the small community of Green Lake, Wisconsin.

"We have crabs," Sheriff Richardson told them grimly.

"Crabs?" Dean asked, laughter bubbling up which he quickly squelched and turned into a cough.

The sheriff looked at him curiously, "Are you all right, Agent Keifer?"

Dean nodded, one fist in front of his mouth as he pretended to cough.

"Sheriff Richardson," Sam took over for his brother, "You said you have three dead bodies in the morgue. What does this have to do with crabs?"

"Honestly Agents, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it myself," the sheriff shook his head and sat down behind his desk.

"Our town was named after the lake we sit beside," he continued, "And for years no one has ever seen anything bigger than a Canada goose in it."

Sam frowned, motioning with one hand for the sheriff to continue.

"Up until last week, our biggest problem was the beavers."

Dean snorted again but once more began to cough. The Sheriff turned to peer at him suspiciously.

"What did you see?" Sam asked quickly, glaring daggers at his immature sibling.

"When we were called to investigate those two kids, we saw… crabs... as big as car tires… eating… eating the bodies."

Sam frowned, "Are you sure you saw… crabs?"

The sheriff nodded, "Yes, indeed. My deputy even shot one. We brought it here, hoping the coroner would be able to do something with it."

"Is this a problem for us or should we call PETA?" Dean asked, trying to keep from smiling.

"Can we see it?" Sam asked before the sheriff could answer Dean's question, "And the bodies?"

"Of course, Agent," Sheriff Richardson told him, reaching for the phone on his desk, "I'll call Dr. Brittingham right now and let her know you are on your way."

As the sheriff spoke with the coroner, Sam eyed his brother wondering if this was a case for them and not the Environmental Protection Agency. Dean seemed to have pulled himself together and shrugged slightly.

"Okay, Agents," Sheriff Richardson drew the brothers' attention, "Dr. Brittingham would love to have you come by and give your opinion on the matter."

"Thank you, Sheriff," Sam said, "Hopefully we can help."

The Winchesters shook hands with the Sheriff before leaving and climbing into the Impala parked out front of the police station.

As soon as they were settled, Sam turned to his brother, "What are you, Dean, five year old?"

"Oh come on, Sam," the older sibling, groaned, "You have to admit you were trying not to laugh."

Sam just glowered at him for a moment before muttering, "Grow up."

Dean scowled, "Who spit in your salad?"

_W_

The drive to the coroner's office, located in the basement of the town's tiny hospital, took no time at all and within minutes Sam and Dean were standing in front of the bodies of sixteen-year old Chelsea Rothstein and her boyfriend, eighteen-year old Mason Williams. Both bodies were pale white in death, slightly bloated, and covered with open wounds revealing pink, red and purple viscera.

"Did they die as a result of their injuries?" Sam asked the coroner.

Dr. Brittingham shook her head, "The injuries you can see occurred post-mortem."

"So, what killed them?" Dean asked.

"They both drowned," the coroner answered.

The hunters both looked at the woman confused.

Sam frowned, "But they were found on the beach, not in the water."

"Can we see the, uh, specimen?" Dean asked and the coroner nodded, moving to the third table and moved aside the white cloth covering the crab.

Both Sam and Dean stared down at the crustacean that, other than being unusually large, appeared to be a regular crab.

Dean, grabbing a pair of latex gloves from the box sitting on the table, pulled them on and turned the specimen over onto its back.

"What do you think, Sam? Could one of these, or maybe even two or three, drag a couple of teenagers into the lake and drown them?"

"I guess it's possible," the younger man agreed, "But normally crabs don't work as a team. And they don't kill, they're generally scavengers by nature."

Dean looked up at him, lifting one of the crab's large claws in his hand, "Maybe they got tired of eating the leftovers."

The coroner listened to the conversation, frowning.

"I think that the teens drowned in the lake, washed up on shore and then were scavenged by the crabs," she told the agents.

"Dr. Brittingham, is there anything around here that would cause mutations in the animals living near the lake?" Sam asked.

This entire case made him queasy. Crabs should not be growing to the size of car tires, and they certainly didn't live in fresh water. The only crustaceans he knew to live in lakes were crayfish and they only grew to be between four and thirteen centimeters. Nowhere large enough to do any serious damage to a human.

"There's a nuclear power plant on the other side of the lake, Agent LaBar, but it's been abandoned for years," the coroner answered.

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

"Thank you, Doctor," Sam told her, "You've been very helpful."

The coroner nodded faintly and the brothers took their leave.

"So what is this?" Dean asked his brother as they left the hospital, "Are we looking at killer crabs or Jason Voorhees?"

Sam shook his head, "I don't know, but I'd like to take a look at that power plant."

_W_

"I can practically feel my insides melting," Dean complained as he and his brother walked carefully through the disused nuclear power plant.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

"We'll be fine," he assured his sibling, "It looks like they closed everything down properly. You're not going to get radiation poisoning."

Dean sniffed and looked at his brother incredulously.

"I don't think we'll find anything," Sam continued, "There's no history of accidents or spills."

"Good, we can leave," his sibling turned abruptly around.

"Why are you in such a hurry to leave?" Sam asked.

"This place creeps me out," Dean snapped, "And I don't feel like turning into a mutant or something gross like from the Chernobyl Diaries."

The younger hunter sighed and followed his brother's lead.

"Why aren't you in a hurry?" Dean asked curiously.

Sam shrugged, avoiding the question.

"It's because of those crabs, isn't it?" Dean asked, a smile forming on his lips, "Isn't it?"

"No," Sam replied quickly, too quickly and knew he'd just given away the real reason he was hesitant to stake out the beach where the kids' bodies had been found.

"C'mon Sammy, no one's asking you to eat one!" Dean crowed, "Though I wonder what they'd taste like."

Sam hunched his shoulders and didn't answer.

"Let's just get out of here," he muttered, "I'm feeling kind of dizzy."

"Oh, no you don't!" Dean insisted, "You said it yourself that this place isn't dangerous!"

Sam picked up his pace; flashlight held tightly in his fist and didn't rise to his brother's bait.

"Sam? Sammy, c'mon, I'm sorry," Dean called after him, jogging to keep up, "It's not funny."

The elder Winchester knew exactly what his brother was thinking about and actually felt bad. It hadn't been funny at the time, either; he'd been terrified his little brother was going to die.

He'd never seen anyone go into anaphylactic shock so fast and he hoped never to do so again.

All because John hadn't been thinking and had ordered a Fillet-O-Fish for his youngest son.

That was when they found out just how deathly ill Sam would become if he ate seafood, any seafood, fish or shellfish. That was why the younger man mostly ate salad; he was terrified of eating something that may have touched seafood. He had an EpiPen with him at all time but thankful hadn't had to use it.

Catching up to his sibling, Dean reached out and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, stopping his progress.

"Why don't you sit this one out?"

Sam shook his head, "You're right Dean, we're just going to kill the crabs, not eat them with butter and lemon."

Dean didn't smile at his brother's attempt at a joke.

"Okay," he muttered and let go of his sibling's shoulder, "If you're sure."

Sam nodded, "I am."

_W_

Dean glanced over at his brother for the nth time, biting his cheek to keep from suggesting Sam go back to the motel and let him take care of the crabs.

The elder hunter zipped his jacket up and peered out at the lake, quiet in the gathering darkness.

Sam had insisted they investigate the lake a night because crabs were generally more active when the sun went down.

"Coffee?" Dean asked his sibling, holding out the Thermos mug full of hot java to Sam.

The younger man shook his head, eyes fixed on the lake.

Time seemed to drag on, and it didn't take long before both brothers were cold and chilled to the bone with the damp air coming in off the lake.

Sam in particular, was shivering but trying not to show it.

"Do you have any coffee left?" he asked Dean hopefully.

The older brother shook his head, holding the Thermos container upside down to allow two drips of coffee to land in the sand.

Wondering if perhaps the sheriff and the coroner had been mistaken and the giant crab in the morgue was just some fluke, some freak of nature, Dean was about to suggest they head back to the motel when movement at the edge of the lake caught his eye.

Crawling slowly up out of the water on armored legs was a crab as big around as a car's tire.

"Shit," Dean breathed, sitting up straighter.

Sam reached out and grabbed the shotgun he had brought, fingers tightening around the cold metal barrel.

The crab scurried up onto the sand, making a hissing sound as its stalk eyes swiveled, and moved closer and closer to the hunters.

Splashing and plopping sounds drew the brothers' attention away from the single crab on the beach to see the water writhing and bubbling with dozens of crustaceans all climbing from the waves.

"Shit," Dean repeated, louder now.

_BANG! _

The hunter jumped as Sam fired his shotgun, the first crab that had made it to land exploding in a spray of pink flesh and brown carapace, entrails scattering on the sand. The crabs just making their way from the lake, hissed and clacked their claws, rushing forward to scoop the remains of their comrade into their greedy mouths.

"I don't that shotgun's gonna be enough, Sammy," Dean commented, eyeing the army of crabs still crawling up the beach towards them.

Sam nodded, looking more than a little nauseous but Dean smiled.

Reaching down to the sand beside him, the elder Winchester picked up the one weapon he had always wanted to use but never got the chance- John's rocket launcher.

"Wait," Sam cautioned, raising one hand, "Wait until they're almost on top of us."

Dean glanced at his brother, "You sure?"

Sam nodded.

Dean rested the weapon on his shoulder, watching carefully as the crabs drew closer and closer.

The older hunter wanted nothing more than to blow the creepy crustaceans to smithereens but he trusted his brother's judgment and waited as the crabs marched ever closer towards them.

Suddenly one of the crabs hissed loudly, claws clicking, and leaped at Sam.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted and the older Winchester stood, pointed the rocket launcher at the middle of the army of crabs and fired.

The force of the weapon knocked Dean off his feet and onto his backside, hard, and he swore out loud, though he couldn't hear his own voice for the ringing in his ears.

Rolling onto his hands and knees, he searched the beach for his brother and caught sight of Sam crouching in the sand, holding his wrist as his hand bled from a gash in the fleshy part between thumb and forefinger, the skin split clean through.

SAM! Dean shouted, his words falling on his own deaf ears.

His brother, whether he could hear him or through some instinct knew he was calling, turned his head to look at him and smiled.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and saw that the crab that had jumped at his brother lay in the sand, its shell cracked down the middle and oozing green goo.

Raising his gaze to the lake, Dean saw that chunks of shell and limbs lay in a deep crater in the sand, the crabs that had escaped the blast running as fast as their legs could carry them back to the water.

Standing, grabbing the rocket launcher in one hand and his brother's uninjured wrist in the other, Dean pulled Sam to his feet and they slowly made their way back to the Impala.

_SPN_

Dean gulped down the last of his beer and grinned at Jody.

"That is not what happened," she said incredulously, eyeing Dean suspiciously.

"Sure it did," Dean insisted, "Hey Sammy! Come over here and show Jody your hand!"

Obediently, the younger Winchester walked into the kitchen where his brother and the sheriff were sitting and showed off the white scar bisecting the web of skin between his right thumb and index finger.

Jody shook her head and laughed, "You two."

Sam looked to Dean; the older brother chuckling and winking.

**Author's Note:**

**Prompt comes from AnitaRez.**

**Thanks to StyxxsOmega, whimsicalbarwench, SamDeanLover28, and Jenjoremy for reviewing.**

**Please leave a review and a 'rule' if you think of one!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Rule 16: When you forget your lighter, rubbing two sticks together is not always an option**

"Dean."

Sam's voice grated on his sibling's nerves and the older hunter said nothing, continuing with what he was doing.

"Dean."

Sam tried again, and again, Dean ignored him, gripping the two sticks tightly in his fists, blinking icy rain out of his eyes.

"Dean."

"What?" the older sibling snapped, lifting his head and glaring angrily at his brother.

"That's not going to work," Sam told him, hugging himself to try and conserve body heat, his long hair plastered to his skull, water dripping off his nose and chin.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean snarled, throwing the sticks at his brother, "At least I'm _trying _something!"

The younger man's hazel eyes widened in shock and he took a couple of steps back, away from his brother.

Then, he too grew angry and snarled back at Dean just as nastily, "I wasn't the one who forgot to bring his lighter, Dean!"

The older Winchester opened his mouth, a snide remark about to escape, when Sam turned on his heel and began walking away from him, slapping sopping branches away from his face as he stalked through the woods.

"SAM!" Dean shouted aggressively, "COME BACK! SAM!"

The younger man didn't respond and continued to stomp through the woods.

"Sam!" Dean called again; now that his brother was out of his sight his anger was waning, quickly becoming replaced by concern, "Sammy!"

"Aaaaggghh!"

The unmistakable cry of pain sent Dean bolting up, dashing through the trees in the direction his brother had gone.

"Sam? Sammy? Answer me!"

Dean's heart began to pound in his chest. Where was his brother? Had the Wendigo they were supposed to be hunting got him?

"SAMMY!"

"D'n," his brother's reply seemed like the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

"Sammy, where are you?" Dean called, scanning the trees surrounding him.

"H're," Sam called, pain making his voice weak.

The older hunter continued on his forward trajectory for a few more feet before spotting his brother sitting on the ground, his left leg caught in a bear trap.

"Shit," Dean swore, "Sammy, what did you do?"

The elder Winchester crouched down beside his sibling and examined the sharp metal teeth of the trap clamped firmly around Sam's ankle.

"Stepped into a bear trap," the younger man answered sarcastically but all the anger had gone from his voice too.

"Should have known these things would be around," Dean said, "The Rangers said they thought a bear or mountain lion was killing those campers."

Sam nodded, his fingers white as he gripped his calf above the bear trap.

"Let me think," Dean said and his gaze followed the chain at the back of the traps metal jaws across the leaf strewn forest floor to the base of a thick oak tree. The chain had been wrapped around the trunk twice and secured with a padlock.

Even if he could open the lock, it would be a bitch to drag that length of chain through the woods, especially with an injured leg.

"Just open the trap," Sam insisted, gritting his teeth.

"If I do that you'll bleed everywhere," Dean argued, "And attract the Wendigo."

"Good," Sam growled, "The faster we kill it the faster you can take me to a hospital."

Dean hesitated, but only for a moment, before kneeling down and gripping the jaws of the bear trap in his hands, pulling them as far apart as he could.

Sam just managed to pull his leg through the jaws of the trap before Dean released them and they snapped closed again with a metallic _tang _sound.

"Let me see," Dean insisted and reached out, pulling the leg of Sam's pants up to assess the damage.

Hissing in sympathy, Dean knew his brother was right- Band Aids and gauze were not going to fix this- he needed to see a doctor, a real professional with a needle and thread.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked and stood himself, grabbing one of Sam's hands and pulling him up.

The younger hunter clenched his teeth and favoured his left leg but at least he was upright.

Dean put his sibling's right arm across his shoulders and began to walk forward slowly, "Let me know if I'm going too fast."

Sam nodded, his face pale and damp with sweat mixed with rain.

The brothers inched forward a few feet, painfully slow, but Dean didn't dare push his sibling to move faster. Blood had soaked through Sam's sock and the cuff of his pant leg, its coppery scent mixing with the pungent aroma of rain and loam.

They had barely made it a hundred feet before Dean stopped- the sounds of low grunting and leaf litter crunching coming from behind them raising the hairs on the back of the hunter's neck.

Turning only his head, so he wouldn't hurt his sibling, Dean's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the large black bear staring at them with rheumy brown eyes.

"Dean? What is it?" Sam whispered, "The Wendigo?"

The older brother shook his head, his left hand sliding silently into the pocket of his leather jacket for his gun.

"What?" Sam asked and turned his head to look.

The black bear sat back on its haunches and sniffed the air, attracted by the scent of Sam's blood.

Dean, almost holding his breath, pulled the hammer back on his pistol and suddenly turned his left, dragging his brother around with him and fired a single shot at the bear's head.

The animal roared with pain and stood up, all seven feet towering over the hunters, rage in its eyes.

Realizing he'd made a horrible mistake, Dean started running, pulling his brother along with him.

The hunter's heart was pounding in his chest; he could hear Sam staggering and swearing beside him, hear the heavy breathing and snarling of the bear behind him.

Dean knew they could not outrun the bear, not even on a good day, and with Sam injured, it was only a matter of time before he fell and they both ended up mauled to death.

_BANG!_

The sound of a gun going off startled the hunter and Dean ducked, nearly landing on his face as he did so. Sam, already unbalanced on his injured leg, did fall, landing on his knees in the muddy leaves.

Dean stumbled to a stop, frantically scanning the trees behind his sibling, and grabbed his brother's jacket, silently urging Sam to get up.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Three more shots rang out and suddenly the forest was silent but for the dripping of rainwater from the leaves and branches and the harsh breathing of the frightened brothers.

"Hey! Hey! Do you need help?" a voice called and once Dean had caught his breath, answered.

"Yeah! My brother's hurt!"

With a rustling of tree branches, a Park Ranger, clad in khaki uniform and olive green jacket appeared, holding a rifle in one hand. The man didn't look pleased but Dean couldn't have been happier to see him.

"You two are damn lucky," the Ranger said, "You two were seconds away from becoming bear chow."

"We know," Dean commented, "Thanks for saving us."

The Ranger inclined his head, "What are you doing here anyway? The park is supposed to be closed."

"We were… hiking," Dean replied, "Yeah, we wanted to go for a hike."

The Ranger raised an eyebrow over his Smokey Bear sunglasses, "In the rain?"

Dean grinned and nudged his brother, "It was his idea."

The radio attached to the Ranger's shoulder crackled to life and the man spoke into it, "I've got two civilians, one injured, requiring an ambulance."

The person on the other end responded in the affirmative and the Ranger returned his attention to the brothers.

"Can you walk?" he asked, addressing Sam.

The younger Winchester nodded and with Dean's assistance, stood up again.

"Follow me," the Ranger instructed and began making his way through the woods.

_W_

"Hey Sammy?" Dean said, hunched over in the back of the ambulance while his sibling lay on a stretcher, Paramedics performing preliminary First Aid on his leg.

"Yeah Dean," Sam muttered, feeling slightly better now that he was out of the cold and rain, on his way to the hospital.

"Remind me never to forget my lighter," Dean grinned cheekily and Sam closed his eyes.

"Screw you," he muttered.

**Author's Note:**

**Prompt comes from missingmikey.**

**Poor Sam, all that just because Dean forgot his lighter :/ **

**Please take a moment to leave a review or a 'rule'. **


	17. Chapter 17

**Rule 17: It's sometimes impossible to convince civilians that hunks and monsters are not part of a reality prank show for TV**

Shit, Dean thought as soon as he saw the three teenage girls making a beeline towards him and his brother, smiles plastered onto faces plastered with makeup.

"Ladies," Dean greeted, his expression professional as he pulled out his fake FBI badge and flashed it at the grinning trio.

"I'm Agent Englund and this is my partner, Agent Gillette," Dean told the girls, "We're in the middle of an investigation and-"

"You're too cute to be FBI agents," one girl, who seemed to be the leader, interrupted.

"-And you'll need to leave," Sam finished for his brother, "For your own safety."

"How did you even get in here?" Dean asked, eyeing the girls with a certain suspicion.

One of the girls, who was currently applying cotton candy coloured gloss onto her already shiny lips, shrugged, "There's a back door. We're not stupid."

Dean looked at his brother, "There's a back door."

"Look, you really can't be here," Sam insisted, spreading his arms with the idea of shepherding the teens back the way they had come, "You could get hurt."

The third girl, who couldn't seem to stop giggling, reached out and squeezed Sam's bicep.

"You guys can't be FBI agents," the leader repeated.

"I know what this is!" Cotton candy girl shrieked suddenly, excited, "This is one of those reality TV shows, isn't it? You two are actors hired to scare us!"

"No, we're-" Sam tried, giving Dean a helpless expression as he was interrupted.

"Who's in on it? Is it Tammy? Or Brad?" the girl who had touched Sam's arm, asked, "I bet it was one of them."

The girl stared around the room and seemed to find something she thought was a camera; she pursed her lips and lifted both hands to show her middle fingers, "We know this is a joke, bitch!"

"Oh my God," Dean muttered.

"What show are we on?" the girl with the pink lip gloss, whose name happened to be Ashley, asked, "We know we're on one so you can fess up."

"I bet it's _Trick'd,_" the lead girl, Maggie told her friends with certainty.

"No way, Mags," the third teen argued, "Randi Rocket would never have ghosts on her show, it has to be _Faces of Fear."_

"Okay," Dean interrupted, "This is getting out of hand. You all need to leave. Now."

"Can we get selfies with you?" the girl closest to Sam asked and before the hunter could stop her, she had snapped a photo of him with her cellphone as she leaned against his chest.

"Fun's over," Dean announced, "You three need to leave."

"Aww," the girls groaned in unison.

Sam slid his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket, fingers tightly gripping the iron rod inside.

"Time to go," Dean commanded but before he could force the girls to leave, the spirit the hunters had been looking for, appeared.

The ghost was a teenager, not much younger than the three living girls, and would have fit in nicely with the group, dressed in black leggings, pink Uggs, and silver t-shirt studded with sequins in the shape of Justin Beiber's face.

The ghost would have looked like a normal girl, if not for the cracked cell phone she held in one hand and the kitchen knife in the other, blood dripping onto the floor from her slashed wrists.

The ghost, a girl who had gone to the same high school as these living girls, had killed herself after receiving cruel comments after posting a selfie had been murdering students who dared to be so vain as to post pictures of themselves on social media, begging for attention.

Before the ghost could attack, Sam was moving forward, brining the iron rod down on the ghost, cutting through her insubstantial body like it was smoke.

"OUT! NOW!" Dean shouted, startling the girls who seemed amazed by the ghost they had just seen.

"How did you do that?" Ashley asked, "That was so cool, so scary!"

"We'll tell you when we get outside," Dean told her, distractedly, "Sam, you got the rear?"

His brother nodded, "Yeah, just hurry."

"C'mon girls," Dean pressed, "Let's get out of here before someone gets hurt."

"Ahhhh!" the girl who'd taken the selfie with Sam screamed and pointed.

The ghost appeared again and was standing right in front of her.

Dean, closer to the ghost this time, grabbed the girl by the back of her shirt and pulled her away from the spirit, causing her to stumble and cry out with fear. The ghost vanished with a snarl of rage.

"Run!" the hunter instructed and the girls didn't have to be asked twice, all three took off as fast as their feet would carry them.

"Ahhh-" a scream cut through the air only to be cut off abruptly and Dean nearly trampled the girl with the itchy selfie finger, a deep cut in her throat gushing blood down her chest.

Grabbing the hands of the girl's friends, Mags and Ashley, Dean hurried past the injured teen, knowing Sam would get her as he followed.

Slamming through the door to the back of the school, the two teens and one hunter staggered out into the staff parking lot, the girls clutching one another and crying.

"Ella! No! She's dead! She's dead!" the girls cried, hugging, makeup running down their faces.

The door opened a second time and Sam stepped out, the front of his shirt soaked in blood.

"Sam?" Dean asked and the younger hunter shook his head.

"Let's just get these two home and figure out what to do no-" Sam began but was interrupted when the door opened a third time and out stepped Ella, blood-smeared but very much alive.

"ELLA!" her friends screamed and ran to her, embracing their grinning friend.

"What… what the hell?" Dean asked, confused.

"She… she was dead," Sam stammered, "Her throat was slit."

The sound of quick footsteps drew the hunters' attention to a middle-aged woman with short red hair, sunglasses, and a cocky smile.

"That's what we wanted you to think," Randi Rocket announced, "Girls, how do you feel to get _Trick'd_?"

The host of the prank show shoved a microphone at the trio, Maggie and Ashley just eating up the attention.

Sam and Dean just stared as the crew from the TV show began to emerge from the woods around the school and from inside strategically placed vehicles in the parking lot.

One particular overzealous cameraman approached Dean.

"Get that out of my face," the hunter snapped angrily, shoving the piece of equipment away and causing the man to stumble, almost dropping the camera.

"I don't… This was a joke?" Sam asked, "But the ghost, she…"

"We planned for Ella here to get all slashed up," Randi Rocket told the hunter, pointing her microphone at him, "Her acting was great."

Suddenly, the woman turned to a guy standing by, scarfing down a donut and coffee.

"Hey Joey, did you guys set up that ghost at the last minute?" she called and the man shook his head, "No, not my guys, I thought it was them."

Joey pointed one glaze-coated finger at the Winchesters.

"Can we get selfies?" Ashley, Maggie and Ella asked Sam and Dean, pointing their cell phones at the boys.

"No!" Dean snarled, grabbing his brother's arm, "Let's get out of here. We'll come back when this circus is over."

Sam nodded but out of curiosity, turned to peer up at the school and saw the ghost of the poor girl who'd killed herself staring down at the scene below.

"Yeah," he muttered, and shook his head, amazed at how sometimes ignorance really could be bliss.

**Author's Note:**

**Prompt comes from missingmikey.**

**Thanks to jensensgirl3, whimsicalbarwench, Jenjoremy, StyxxsOmega, elliereynolds777, reannablue, and Masami Mistress of Fire for reviewing.**

**Dean's FBI pseudonym is taken from actor Robert Englund, famous for the **_**Nightmare on Elm Street **_**movies while Sam's named after Warrington Gillette, the actor who portrayed Jason Voorhees in **_**Friday the Thirteenth, Part 2.**_

**The two reality TV shows the girls mention are based on real shows- Trick'd is based on Punk'd- Faces of Fear is based on Scare Tactics- similar to how Ghost Facers was inspired by such shows as Ghost Adventures and Ghost Hunters. **

**Please review and leave a 'rule'.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Rule 18: Don't try and hunt a hungry Wendigo with only a pup tent.**

Dean couldn't help but watch skeptically as John set up the tiny tent. Really, it wasn't much of a tent to begin with, basically a large blanket draped over a vertical tree branch with four large rocks on each corner to keep it from blowing away.

Sam held Dean's hand, as he too watched their father, the younger boy's fingers cold in his big brother's grip. This was Sammy's first hunt and Dean couldn't help but wonder if their father should have waited for something easier- and safer- like a ghost while his brother still had his 'training wheels' on.

John finished putting up the tent, took a step back to make sure it was just right, before nodding and turning to his sons.

"This'll do for the night."

"Um… Dad?" Dean said cautiously. He wasn't one to argue with their father but he couldn't help but point out the problem he was seeing, "It's not that big. We're not all going to be able to fit in there."

"That's because not all of us are going to sleep in the tent at the same time," John replied, as though that should have been obvious to his sons, "We are going to take turns watching for the Wendigo."

Dean frowned and glanced quickly to his little brother.

"Even Sammy?"

John's dark eyes fixed on his youngest son's face, "Yes, even Sam."

Dean's frowned deepened but he said nothing else.

"You boys can sleep first," John told them as though he was being extremely generous and Dean quickly pulled his brother into the tent with him.

With only two sides of the tent closed in, wind and a light, misty rain reached the children, making them both shiver. Dean bent down to brush leaves and sticks away before he lay down on his side, motioning to his brother to lie beside him.

The younger boy did as his sibling asked and lay down as well, sniffling for a moment and curled right against his brother's chest. Dean draped an arm around his brother and closed his eyes, trying to get some sleep before their father woke him, as he invariably knew John would so he could keep a lookout when it was his turn.

Outside the tent, the eldest Winchester crouched, watchful, listening to every creak of a branch and shift of the leaves on the ground, flare gun in one hand and flashlight in the other.

_SPN_

Dean woke to his father shaking his shoulder roughly some time later.

Sitting up and grimacing as his back protested the movement, unused to lying on the cold, hard ground, the boy focused on the silhouette of his father looming over him in the gloom.

"Take these," John whispered, handing Dean the gun and flashlight.

The boy did so and stood, bending over in the tight space of the tent.

"Wake your brother up in four hours," John called out to him as Dean left the tent.

Dean nodded but he wasn't sure his Dad had seen. During the night the rain had increased and now fat, icy drops were falling from the trees.

The boy crouched down on the ground in much the same way his father had done hours earlier and squinted, peering through the forest with his flashlight, careful to keep the beam from the tent and waking John and Sammy.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted and it was very difficult to see anything in the woods at this time of night. The shadows made it look like the Wendigo could be hiding behind any tree or bush, ready to pounce.

As he waited, the boy wondered if he should just let his brother sleep and watch for eight hours instead of four.

No, Dad would know, Dean thought; He'll be pissed if he finds out Sammy didn't take his watch.

Sighing, the boy struggled to stay awake as his brother and father slept in the flimsy tent only a few feet away.

_W_

"Ahhhhhh!"

The high-pitched scream startled Dean awake and he turned around. He knew exactly who had made that sound. His little brother.

The boy had fallen asleep on his feet and during that time the Wendigo had snuck up on him. The monster was towering over the tattered remains of the tent, claws prepared to tear into flesh instead of fabric.

"DEAN!"

John's shout shook Dean out of his shock.

The boy raised the flare gun and pointed it at the Wendigo that hadn't seemed to notice him despite the glare of the flashlight.

"_Dean!_" Sam's frightened cry cut through Dean's heart and he fired the gun.

The flare hit the Wendigo in the side and the creature screamed in pain. For a moment Dean didn't think he had killed the monster but then it's grey skin caught fire, quickly burning up like paper as the beast shrieked in pain, charging right over John and Sam in its dying panic.

Dean watched as the Wendigo burned as it ran, until it collapsed a dozen meters from the camp, its remains smoldering.

"SAMMY!" Dean cried, "DAD!"

Hurrying over to his father and brother, the boy shone the flashlight at them; terrified they'd been injured.

John reached out and shoved the flashlight down towards the ground.

"We're fine," he growled.

Dean wasn't convinced. Sammy's face was pale, his hazel eyes wide and he was shaking.

"Come here, Sammy," Dean said and the younger boy practically fell into his arms.

"You okay? It didn't get you?"

The younger boy shook his head, "Dad protected me."

Dean looked up as John stood, wincing and saw a damp patch on his father's sleeve.

"You're hurt!" the older boy cried.

"Just a scratch," John muttered, "I'm fine."

Dean nodded.

The eldest Winchester tore the tattered blanket down, rolled it into a ball before tossing it into the trees.

"What happened, Dean?" the man asked, turning to his eldest son.

The boy was taken aback for a moment, but then raised his head, looking directly into John's eyes.

"I fell asleep, Sir."

"You fell asleep," his father repeated.

Dean nodded.

"What is the most important rule when hunting?" John asked.

"Stay alert," Dean told him right away, "Always. No matter what."

John didn't say anything for a moment, then, his gaze traveled down to his youngest son who was still snuggling with his eldest.

"Do you realize what could have happened because you fell asleep?"

"Yes, I-"

"That Wendigo could have killed you, me and Sam," John interrupted, "We all would have paid the ultimate price for just a few minutes of shuteye."

Dean bit his lip but said nothing. He knew how dangerous Wendgios were and how easily this one could have killed his father and brother. John didn't have to make him feel worse about it.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"No," John snapped.

"No?"

"You're not sorry," the elder Winchester told him, "You don't fully comprehend how serious this was."

"I do! I really-" Dean began but John held a hand up, stopping him.

"Maybe next time you'll think about losing Sam and maybe then you'll take what I'm saying to heart," John told him, "I hope you do and your brother doesn't have to pay for your next mistake."

That said, John started off through the woods in the direction of the road.

Dean remained seated for a moment, his father's words stinging in him still.

He peered down at the top of his brother's head and sighed, standing and pulling his sibling up at the same time.

Taking Sam's hand, Dean used the flashlight to guide the way their father had gone. The younger boy holding tightly onto Dean's free hand as they walked.

"It's okay, Dean," Sammy whispered, "You killed the monster. You kept me safe."

The older boy's heart swelled at his sibling's words at the same time his mind still reeled from his father's admonishment.

"I'll never let anything bad happen to you, Sammy," Dean whispered.

**Author's Note:**

**Prompt comes from missingmikey.**

**Thanks to elliereynolds777, whimsicalbarwench, reannablue, Sallyannerenee, and SamDeanLover28 for reviewing.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Rule 19: No Prank Wars During a Hunt**

Fourteen-year old Sam Winchester sat in the backseat of the Impala, all but boring holes into the back of his brother's head as Dean rode shotgun beside their father.

The teen was still smarting after his brother's last practical joke in the latest series of the 'Winchester Prank Wars'. He knew he was being stupid for being angry with Dean but it had been a mean and immature joke.

The eighteen-year old, in his wisdom, had taken the last box of Oreos they had, licked all the icing from the middle of each cookie and replaced the filling with toothpaste. He then put all the cookies back into the box as though they hadn't been tampered with.

That very evening, when Sam returned to the motel room, and hungry, decided to have some Oreos, only to find that they had been defiled with toothpaste. Needless to say, the younger Winchester hadn't been impressed, calling Dean an idiot for doing something so stupid.

The older brother's response was to shrug and say, "It didn't kill you, did it?"

When the eldest Winchester found out about the prank, it was a little more serious. Sam couldn't help but smile as he recalled the lecture John had given Dean about acting like an adult and how his prank was a waste of food.

Now all Sam had to do was find a way to get back at his brother.

The fourteen-year old propped his chin on his hand and peered out the window of the Impala, daydreaming about what prank he would pull on his big brother next.

_W_

Sam took a bite of his turkey club sandwich and eyed the saltshaker sitting on the table in front of him.

Dean, sitting across from him, was already halfway through his cheeseburger, but his French fries were untouched.

Sam knew his brother was the kind of person who put _everything _on his fries- salt, pepper, ketchup, mayonnaise, vinegar- before he would even touch them.

So why were Dean's fries naked?

He probably knows exactly what I'll do if he gets up from the table, Sam told himself and was resigned to finding a different prank to pull on his brother.

John was sitting beside Dean, not even paying attention to what was going on around him, munching away on his burger with his nose stuck in a newspaper.

Irritated, Sam finished his sandwich and moved on to his salad, angry that his brother was foiling his plans for his prank.

_W_

Ice-cold water lapped up onto the pebbly beach, reaching out to Sam's boots.

The fourteen-year old gripped his knife tightly as he listened to his father's instructions, his brother at his side.

"This thing only comes up on land to hunt," John was saying, "And it only does that once every new moon so we can't mess this up or we'll have to wait another four weeks."

The younger Winchesters nodded; they had hunted werewolves before- creatures who only came out during the three days of the full moon- and were therefore well aware of the need to kill the monster quickly.

"This is a bit more dangerous," John continued, "You need to get close enough to the beast to stab its heart."

"It has to be the heart?" Dean asked and their father nodded, "That's what the lore says. The only way to kill a Dobhar-chú is to stab it through its heart."

Sam glanced at his brother. He didn't fancy the idea of getting close enough for the monster to kill _him _just so he could kill it.

"We have all night," John told them, "So take your time. But stay alert and watch out for each other."

The boys nodded; Dean stepping closer to his sibling.

"You have everything?" their father asked, and the boys raised their knives; Sam showing that he had the flashlight and Dean presenting the walkie-talkie.

John nodded, "Let me know as soon as you kill this thing and I will do the same if I find it."

"We will," Dean assured him and the brothers watched their father make his way down the edge of the beach, pebbles and seashells crunching beneath his boots.

"C'mon Sammy," the eighteen-year old said and the younger boy followed his brother as he headed in the opposite direction John had gone.

_W_

Sam squinted at his watch in the gloom and saw that forty minutes had passed since he and Dean had parted ways with their father.

In that time neither teen had spoken, ears and eyes straining for any sound or sight of their quarry to no avail.

The brothers had paused in their walk along the seashore, Dean sitting on a large piece of driftwood that had washed up on the shore.

"Maybe Dad was wrong and it's not a Dobhar-chú," Sam muttered quietly, "Maybe it was just a shark."

Illuminated by the beam his brother's flashlight, Dean shrugged, "You saw the bodies…"

"And they looked like a shark could have attacked them," Sam added.

"I don't know, are there really a lot of shark attacks in Washington?" Dean asked pointedly.

Sam sighed, "The only authentic shark attack was in the spring of 1989, and the surfer survived."

His brother nodded, "So it's probably not a shark. Dad knows what he's doing, Sam. He knows a monster when he sees what's left of the victim."

The fourteen-year old didn't reply but took a few steps away from his sibling, annoyed that they had not found the monster yet and impatient to get back at his brother for his dumb toothpaste-in-the-Oreos trick.

"Don't go too far away, Sammy!" Dean called from his seat on the piece of driftwood.

The younger boy shrugged and continued wandering away, swinging the flashlight in wide arcs, illuminating the rocky beach ahead. He wouldn't get too far away from his sibling; there was still a Dobhar-chú around.

Swinging the flashlight to the right, the beam revealed a large clump of Coastal Panic Grass about six feet high and an idea suddenly came to the teen. It was a harmless idea but it would certainly get Dean back for his own practical joke.

Turning off the flashlight, Sam ducked into the clump of grass, crouching down so that he couldn't easily be seen and cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting out for his sibling.

"DEAN! DEAN! HELP!"

Within seconds Sam heard the pounding of footfalls against the stony beach and smirked.

"Sammy? Sam? Where are you?" Dean called out, his tone frightened.

"HERE!" Sam cried and grabbed a handful of grass, shaking it, "THE MONST-"

Grasses parting violently, Dean peered down at his sibling, chest heaving with panic. The eighteen-year old blinked and raised a hand to shield his eyes as his sibling turned the flashlight back on and shone it in his face.

"Where- Where is it?" Dean stammered, frowning.

Sam grinned from ear to ear, "Gottcha."

A look of realization dawned on the older boy's face and Dean scowled, "You idiot! That's not funny."

"It was a bit," Sam argued, standing up and wiping sand from the seat of his jeans.

"No, it wasn't," Dean snapped and grabbed the flashlight from his sibling, shining it directly in Sam's face.

"I really thought you were in trouble," he continued.

"Than I guess I win this round," Sam replied smugly.

Dean shoved past him, "No way. That's wasn't funny. Don't you know what happened to the kid who cried wolf?"

"Dean," Sam called as his brother stomped through the patch of grass and continued on his way, "Dean! Come back, I can't see anything without the flashlight!"

The eighteen-year old didn't return to his sibling. Sam sighed and started making his way through the panic grass, stepping carefully to avoid tripping over hidden obstacles.

A low growl from behind the teen made Sam stop in his tracks.

"Dean?" he called out quietly.

_SPN_

Sam thought he was so funny, thought he was being smart. Well, Dean didn't see the humor in his little prank. He'd actually thought his brother had been hurt. That was not a laughing matter in the least.

Sure, his prank with the Oreo cookies may have been stupid and immature but at least it wasn't dangerous.

Dean couldn't help but fume at his sibling's joke. He started off through the grass without waiting for his brother, knowing that Sam would rush after him in a minute or two.

Sam knew better than to joke around while they were actively hunting a monster; pranks were fine as long as they didn't interfere with their job.

The eighteen-year old was quite a ways down the beach before he realized his brother hadn't caught up to him.

"Sammy?" Dean called and turned around, shining the flashlight down along the beach, seeing no sign of his sibling.

"D'N!" a cry cut through the quiet night, making the teen jump.

Dean's first instinct was to run towards the sound but then he stopped.

"I don't believe it," he muttered out loud.

He's trying it again, he thought; I'm going to kill him. This is _so _not funny.

A second scream rang out, shriller than the first, cutting off abruptly.

Sighing, Dean began walking towards the grasses where Sam was hiding, still continuing to play around.

"I'm going to deck you, Sam," Dean warned, "When I get over there! I told you to stop it!"

_"D'n!"_

This cry was weaker, quieter and full of pain. Dean knew Sam could act but he wasn't _that _good. His brother really was hurt.

"Sam?" he cried and began running towards the spot where he had left his sibling, "Sammy!"

Pebbles slid out from beneath Dean's boots, nearly causing him to fall several times before he reached the grass. Shoving the long grasses aside, the beam of the flashlight jerking from side to side as the eighteen-year old began to panic.

Dean's heart leaped into his throat as the light illuminated a pool of dark red liquid splashed against the stones mere inches away from his shoes.

"SAM!" he bellowed and received a weak cry in response coming from the direction of the water's edge.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted and trampled the grass as he charged towards the edge of the ocean, heart pounding fearfully. As soon as he was clear of the grass, Dean could clearly see a trail of dark red liquid smeared across the stones and shells that coated the beach, the bloody line stopping abruptly just where the water lapped at the shore.

A crumpled figure lay facedown against the ground while a creature the size of a German Shepard with the head of a hound with floppy pennant ears, the body and legs of an otter and the tail of a beaver, dipped its snout down to take a bite of its prey.

With no thought for his own safety, Dean ran forward, knife in hand, and brought the blade down into the side of the Dobhar-chú's exposed throat. Blood as cold as the ocean water lapping at the stones squirted across the teen's hand and the monster snapped at the hunter.

Dean just barely moved his hand free of the monster's jaws and stabbed the creature again, this time in its chest.

The Dobhar-chú squealed in agony and backed away, the blade sliding from its chest with a wet squelch and sighed, collapsing beside the injured boy.

Dean waited for a moment, eyes wide as the monster's body dissolved into foam that was quickly swept away by the lapping ocean waves, before turning his attention to his sibling.

"Sam? Sammy?" the eighteen-year old rolled his brother over onto his back and peered into the boy's face.

Sam's skin was pale and streaked with blood; his eyes were closed.

"Sammy!" Dean snapped and he shook his brother's shoulder, "Wake up! C'mon man!"

A crackle from the walkie-talkie in Dean's pocket startling him and he grabbed it with one hand, the other gripping his sibling's shoulder tightly.

"Dad… I killed the monster but… Sammy's hurt bad…"

Dean barely heard John's response, which included some colourful language, and continued his attempts to wake his sibling.

"Sammy, Sam," he urged, putting the walkie-talkie back in his pocket and using the flashlight to illuminate his sibling and show their father where they were.

"C'mon man," Dean muttered, "This isn't funny. This is lame."

Sam made no response. His eyes remained closed and his face remained as pale as before.

"You win, okay?" Dean told him, "You win the prank wars. You're the champion. Now wake up."

"Damn it," the teen swore and laid the flashlight on the ground, pointed towards his sibling so that his hands were free as he began checking his brother's injuries.

The right leg of Sam's jeans were torn to shreds and coated in blood, the skin beneath in tatters. Dean moved his gaze upwards and opened his sibling's jacket to find it too, slick with blood. Sam's chest and belly had been clawed cruelly by the Dobhar-chú but the lacerations did not look deep enough to have done any permanent damage. Carefully pulling his brother's jacket off, Dean grimaced as he held his sibling's left arm carefully, the skin and flesh beneath gashed by the monster's teeth.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured as he formed his sibling's jacket into a ball and pressed it against his arm, which seemed to have taken the worst damage.

"DEAN!" the eighteen-year old heard his father shout and he raised his flashlight to show the elder Winchester where they were.

Within seconds John was at Dean's side, peering concerned at his youngest son's face.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Dean told him, "The Dobhar-chú just snuck up on us, surprised me and grabbed Sammy. Started dragging him to the water."

John didn't even nod. His mouth had formed a thin, grim line and his dark eyes were moist.

"We have to get him to a hospital."

The father stood and held his hands out but Dean shook his head. His fourteen-year old brother was small for his age and Dean could carry him. Cradling his unconscious sibling like an infant, the eighteen-year old followed John to the edge of the beach where the Impala sat waiting.

_SPN_

Sam Winchester lay uncomfortably in the backseat of the Impala.

He had woken up hours after being admitted to a local hospital and having his wounds taken care of. He had over forty stitches in his leg and nearly a hundred in his arm, plus surgery to repair torn ligaments in both limbs. The cuts on his chest had been cleaned and bandaged but thankfully had not required stitches as well.

He had been quiet ever since waking up, feeling like an idiot for tricking Dean. If he hadn't been so stupid, he might not be in such a state at this moment.

"Hey Sammy, you awake?" Dean turned around in the front passenger seat as they stopped to fill up on gas, John leaving his sons in the vehicle.

"Yeah," the teen muttered.

"How are you feeling?"

"Awful," Sam replied, "Not that I don't deserve to."

"Sam-" his brother began but the younger sibling interrupted.

"No, I was being stupid," he told Dean, "I could have died. I could have avoided this if I hadn't been thinking about your prank with the Oreos."

He could see his brother's mouth moving, as though Dean wanted to say something but he didn't.

"Let's make a truce then," Dean suggested, holding his hand out, pinkie finger out, "No pranks during hunts."

Sam reached out with his uninjured arm and hooked his pinkie finger around his brother's.

"No pranks during hunts," he grimaced.

Dean nodded, serious, but then he grinned, "But any other time is free game. You better watch out. When you're better…"

The eighteen-year old laughed maniacally and the younger boy groaned, closing his eyes in exasperation.

**Author's Note:**

**Prompt comes from a combination of ideas by CarverEdlundtheLast and AnitaRez.**

**The monster the Winchesters are hunting is a real mythical creature from Irish folklore. The Dobhar-chú has been sighted as long ago as the 17th century and as recently as the year 2003.**

**Thanks to StyxxsOmega, elliereynolds777, mckydstarlight, Aziza Maye, and jensensgirl3 for reviewing.**

**Please leave a review or an idea for a rule!**


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